


Vacation: Terminated

by Ambassador666



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst, Betrayal, Dark, Demons, Drama, Family, Family Feels, Feels, Flashbacks, Harry is a Little Shit, Humor, Jealousy, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Magic, Manipulation, Master of Death!Harry, Mates, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Murder, Nightmares, Pain, Panic, Past, Poison, Possessive Behavior, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder PTSD, Reincarnation, Romance, Roughness, Sad, Sarcasm, Secrets, Sexual Content, Slow Build, So is death, Suicide, Suicide Attempts, Supernatural Elements, Time Travel, Trauma, Trust Issues, Violence, grey!Harry, some - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-08-19 02:19:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8185285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ambassador666/pseuds/Ambassador666
Summary: After countless reincarnations, heartbreak and nonstop paperwork, the Master of Death – Harry James Potter – upon agreement with Death has decided to take a long-awaited vacation for one lifetime.As Elijah Phantomhive.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Brief overview of the Death Gods: The Death Gods that you see here are different to the ones you see in Black Butler. They're actual living Gods that were among the first creations to reap human souls. They weren't humans that committed suicide. Death was the first creation by God to reap human souls. Then as time gradually flowed, Death created other Death Gods to help him in his task since the human population spread. (You can see where I'm going with this right?) When the human population got too big and were overworking the Gods, they chose to charge humans who committed suicide with their work. Giving them additional enhances such as agility, endurance and other abilities similar to their own but weaker in comparison. The Death Gods then came about making a corporation (bla bla bla~, you get the idea) they are in charge of the Grim Reaper Dispatch and keeping the shiniagmi in check.

Vacation: Terminated

Prologue

_After countless reincarnations, heartbreak and nonstop paperwork, the Master of Death – Harry James Potter – upon agreement with Death has decided to take a long-awaited vacation for one lifetime._

. . .

" _I'm just gonna fade away_  
_No I can't stay here if I wanna stay sane_  
_Guess I'll leave down those streets of gold_  
_I'm just gonna fade away_  
_No I can't stay here if I wanna stay sane_  
_Guess I'll leave down those streets of gold_  
_All turned to rust as I grew old"_

\- Fade Away, Ronin

. . .

Year:  _2068_

There is no poetry about being the Master of Death. There is no bright light that fills you with adoration, no God that lifts you into their kingdom, there is nothing but contempt. Forever alone, forever dying and forever reaping. Being the Master of Death isn't just a title, it's a job filled with infinite loss.

The first time Harry came to this notion was decades after he had stopped aging. By the time he and Ginny had gotten married and had their firstborn, her face started to age while his remained twenty. Harry tried hiding it by using glamours, voice spells, anything he could get his hands on. They went to professionals, alchemists, centaurs and even vampires. But they all came to the same conclusion: "We don't know."

Years went by in a daze from then on. Watching his friends gradually age, hair turning grey, wrinkles sprouting, their jealousy and anger towards something he couldn't control increasing as time went by. If only they knew how it felt for him. It didn't take long, Harry soon discovered, for his son and grandson to catch up to him, for his friends to die off one by one along with his wife. He dug their graves.

It was a bitter blessing when Harry decided to end his own life. His only regret of that was his son being left behind.

When he woke up, he was in an abyss of darkness, body floating in nothingness. "Is this hell?" He wondered.

"No." A voice said softly and out of the darkness came a smiling man dressed in a green pinstriped suit. His dark feathery hair combed back neatly, face freshly shaven and raven eyes alight with anticipation. The man floated in front of him as though he were standing, unlike himself that was lying horizontal. "You're in a space between life and death. Heaven and Hell. Earth and the cosmos. Pretty much you're in a space that shouldn't exist but does because one great being you call God decided as such."

Harry gave a worried grin. "And why am I here exactly? In the place that shouldn't exist?" The man scoffed at the question.

"I'm not sure it's actually possible for you to go to Heaven  _or_  Hell." He said sarcastically, smile dissolving into a frown when Harry leveled his toxic green eyes at him.

"Pardon?"

The man stared.

"…You don't know…do you?" The green suited man growled when Harry shook his head. "Well that's just great!" He huffed like a five year old and sat cross-legged. His body hovering in front of Harry as though he were a genie. Harry reared back in shock when the man's head snapped out, nose an inch from his own. "I'd hoped you bumbling mortals would have figured it out. I did leave clues ya' know. Hoping to get the ball rolling and such. I thought with that little friend of yours, what's her name? Starting with an H? - Never can quite remember it, feels like I have to talk in tongues – would have been able to figure it out. Guess I was wrong,  _mortals_ ," he snorted "thoughtless creatures you are. Nothing personal, you understand. It's just your basic nature and all that hoo-ha."

"I'm sorry?" Harry muttered in bemusement at the being that was currently glaring at him. The happiness that was once beaming amongst the darkness seemed to have been swallowed whole by it. And just then, Harry's mind snapped awake. "Hang on. I just…What's going on? Why am I here? I just killed myself…I died and" Oh God he died. Realizing he was panicking he took a deep breath and said: "…I'm sorry, I don't-"

"Don't be." The man (Harry was beginning to question if he was a man at all) heaved a sigh. "Perfectly normal reaction after dying." Out of nowhere Harry felt the man's palm press against his chest making him tense up. "Goodness, you're heart's beating like a samba."

Harry's eye's widened. "My heart?!" Quickly he checked his pulse. He didn't feel anything at first. There! There it was. Beating away rapidly. A light chuckle bubbled out of his throat and relief swept through him. "That doesn't make any sense. How can my heart still be beating when I'm already dead?"

"Bah!" The hand left his chest to flap about in about pish-posh manner. Those dark eyes of his glinting madly in anticipation. "What kind of Death God would I be if I were to kill my master?"

"…Master? "

"Yes, damn you!" The man cried as he took Harry by the shoulders and proceeded to shake him. "You've been my master for almost seventy years now ever since you collected all the hallows and died- which by the way you have an annoying habit of. This makes the third time you've died in one lifetime! How many times do I have to save you, you problematic master?! Makes you wonder if it was fate that brought us toge-" Harry's head snapped forward, bashing itself against the pinstriped man. "OW! What the…" His voice trailed off as he stared at the furious mortal.

"Stop beating around the bush you incongruous man and tell me what it is I should obviously know."

The man winced. The mortal was angry and scared. Poor thing. "You're the Master of Death."

He didn't blink much in those quiet minutes they sat.

"Bugger that I want to go to heaven."

The man spluttered as though he had cursed his great ancestors.

"You've been the Master of Death for the past seventy years! You can't just up and go. Man, what would the God's in the lower levels say if they heard you right now? Tut tut." His eyes narrowing dangerously. "You could have renounced your throne a couple of years in if you didn't wait so long. Lazy master."

Harry's eyebrow twitched. "I didn't know anything about this nonsense until now. – And don't you give me that lame excuse of leaving clues. I didn't get any kind of clues that would point to me being the Master of Death." He hissed and gritted his teeth at the peeved off expression he was receiving.

"Did you think you not aging was some kind of medical phenomenon?" There was a pause.

Harry set his face against his hands, inhaled deeply and let out a morbid groan that seemed to echo around himself and the infuriating pinstriped green man. As though he wasn't suffering enough, the man had the gall to pat his head – dare he day it - affectionately. "There there little master. Everything's gonna be alright."

Kill him now.  _'Pfft. Like that worked last time.'_

' _That green striped bastard.'_

"You ruined my marriage!" Harry howled and lunged at the man who let out an alarmed 'eep!' as he was tackled. One second they were floating in the recesses of space, the next the ground came rushing up to meet them. Both landed with a loud  _"oof_!"

"What in the world?..." As Harry looked up from his fists clutching at a squirming green collar, his eyes widened to impossible lengths. "Merlin's balls."

He was in some kind of abnormally large room. The entire wall in front of him was filled with planes of glass stretching across the wall. With it came a desk the size of a car at the end of it. The nametag on said desk read 'Master of Death'. He scowled at it.

A whimper brought his attention back to the matter at hand. "U-Um Master, c-could you…" When Harry looked down with a raised eyebrow, watching the man's finger point frantically downwards; he blushed.

"…Ah." Moving his knee, the mortal man stood up and walked towards the floor-to-ceiling windows that covered the entire side of the room. Harry stared at the sight in front of him in awe. He couldn't believe it. The sight before him was neither evil nor angelic. Pressing his head against the plane of glass, he breathed out a laugh. Bright entities flew past the room in a similar fashion to a Patronus before disappearing into the dusk beyond. There were millions of them, and with a grimace Harry realized that they must be souls. Lucky bastards. They get to go to heaven or hell while he's stuck here like the freak everybody keeps on telling him that he is. Moving his eyes down, he almost chocked. There were similar rooms underneath this one that seemed to span on for an eternity.

"Thank you Master." A strained voice behind him breathed, making Harry swallow a yelp.

"Forgot you were here." Harry muttered bitterly to himself as he stared at the pinstriped green man for a second longer. "Where are we?"

"Where are we?..." The question seemed to kick the fellow into gear as he stumbled to his feet and looked around as if expecting ninjas to emerge from the shadows and attack. "W-We're. Er…" The man looked positively wretched.

"Well?"

"Y'see, I was gonna break this gently to you up there." Pointing up from where they fell. "Now, this is gonna sound crazy-"

"I killed myself not ten minutes ago and wake up to be told I'm the Master of Death. It can't possibly get crazier than this."

"Ah, well,  _hmm_ , yes." He nodded to himself, as though he were convincing himself he had the valor to agree. "We're in your office." Harry nodded, edging him on. "In the plane between life and death. Heaven and Hell. Earth and the cosmos –"

"Get on with it."

"To be frank, you're currently standing in the Company_of_Death©. That you own. And Death Gods are your employees."

Harry cursed under his breath.

There was a list of things that could have gone wrong when he committed suicide, but being shoved the title "Master of Death" and owning a company full of Death God employees was not one of them.

"I was wrong. This is crazy.  _This_." He sighed, sweeping his arm through the air. "This is not happening."

"You just gestured to all of it." The man stated dryly.

"Oh I know." He sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose. The throbbing in his temples was demanding attention. "Look I'm honored and all but I cannot accept this. I'm just Har-"

With one graceful movement, the man had Harry pinned against the window, making it crack on impact. Spidery fractures in the glass spread out underneath the wizard. Harry didn't like the sound of it. The hand enclosing his throat almost crushed his windpipe; Harry stared at the man in bewilderment. This guy has mood swings that could change the tide.

"You should reconsider what you just said and who you said it to mortal." He chastised. When he received a glare in return he rolled his eyes in a way that almost looked painful. "Right, of course you didn't figure it out. I'm Death, Master. And never in my years upon this bleak Earth have I once asked for a Master. Every mortal I've come across that looked like a suitable fit turned out to be a power-hungry. Sociopathic. Lost little lamb." He punctuated each word by pressing down harder upon his throat. Almost crushing his esophagus. "Like Tom Riddle for example. Smart, handsome, charming young man before he decided to take it upon himself to start Armageddon. Boy," A chuckle breezed over Harry's face. "was I in the wrong there. But I was glad I stuck around. If I hadn't I would have never met you." The pressure lessened on his throat making Harry take gulps of air before settling his glare on Death again.

"I wish you hadn't stuck around. You ruined my life." Almost too soon was he repeatedly slammed against the window, this time breaking it under his brute force. Harry let out a strangled cry of shock as he felt gravity pull him down. Death's arm snatched his top, letting his body dangle precariously out the window.

The sound outside was inhumane. The souls that once looked so beautiful when viewed from behind the window were releasing these loud tortuous screeches. Like nails scraping against a chalkboard the hairs on the back of his neck stood up in horror.

"Get me back up!" He shouted at Death. The man looked at him with a bored expression, but those dark malicious eyes told a different story.

"Will you be my Master?"

The noises from the souls got closer and closer until his ears began to ring.

"Hell no!" His breath hitched as the bright entities stopped and turned towards him and shrieked even louder. Harry winced. "What are they doing?"

"They're attracted to bodies that they can possess." Death smiled wearily. "The fickle thing about humans is that even when they're dead they still cling to life. A soul can't possess Death God's like myself because we can't be so easily defeated. But, a flock of souls like this one and we're gonna have a problem. That's why the outer rim of this company has a dimensional barrier. The Dimensional barrier not only protects us from human souls, it also hides us from Heaven and Hell. Thank's God. Same goes with this glass that's also been blessed by God himself. Although now that I think about it…" One of the hands that was holding Harry with let go as Death scratched his chin thoughtfully. "You broke through the dimensional barrier when you accidentally teleported us here and oh would you look at that." Death studied the broken glass innocently. Purposefully ignoring the savage-looking souls heading towards them and a panicked Harry. He placed a hand against his cheek comically. "Dear me. It seems I broke the glass."

Harry gritted his teeth in irritation. "You utter bastard!" Death stared at him maliciously.

"Will you be my Master?"

"What?!" Shrieked Harry. Christ almighty, this guy was insane!

"Will you be my Master? Simple question, not so simple answer."

' _Oh Christ! Stop it!'_

"This is neither time nor place, Death!" The man simply stared at him indifferently. Harry sighed. "Fine! Yes,  _yes_  I'll be your freaking Master now get us out of here!" With a pull Death flung Harry inside the room like he was a sack of barley. Toppling to the floor he heard a loud bang from behind him and twisted around fearfully to only be baffled. Replacing the broken windows was a set of bars that seemed enchanted (They were freaking glowing!) as they repelled the souls.

"Forgot to mention." Said Death cheekily, absently scratching the back of his head. "But we have a backup system incase the dimensional barrier and glass breaks."

"You're mad." Harry hissed out, but was broken out of his rage when the doors to the room blasted open revealing a heaving man glaring daggers at the two of them. The man was a handsome one, Harry idly noticed, his dreadlocked hair was pulled back from his face in a short bun. Clothing fitted nicely in a standard black suit-and armed by the look of it. ' _Although'_ , Harry thought wearily, ' _those don't look like standard weapons_.' In fact they were rather odd looking. In place of where a gun or wand would be was a mini staff.

' _The hell?_ '

"Who was it?" Hissed the man, leaning on the door with one arm and puffing as though he had ran a marathon. "Who was the  _twit_  that broke the security barriers?" Before he could say anything Death pointed at Harry on the floor. Said wizard glared but halted at feeling a large amount of killing intent being aimed towards him. He glanced over to Death who seemed unfazed by the murderous tension in the air. Bastard. "Oho, should'a guessed it was the mortal." The man then paused. Blinking incredulously. "Wait… _Mortal_!?" The once very intimidating person clutched his hair in a panic. "What's a human doing here?! No, how did a human get  _in_  here? I would have noticed if such a thing, unless…" His accusing glare turned towards Death. "Oh you senseless twat."

"I did nothing that didn't need doing." Death said innocently. Bobbing on the edge of his heels.

"You brought a Mortal into the company." The man growled and stalked forward, poking Death's chest with his index finger. "It's against the rules."

"Aha. Not if they aren't dead, and as you can see," Death gestured to Harry's sprawled form on the ground, his eye twitched, "he's very much alive." Seeing the man about to rebut he quickly said: "I got permission."

"From who?"

"Mine, of course." Death cooed. The man's mouth shut with a snap of incredulity.

"How did you even break the dimension seal? That thing is thousands of years old. Lucifer himself couldn't break it without sweating a little and scorching his wings."

This made Death smirk at him like a shark, excitement pouring out of him in waves. "I didn't,  _he_  did." Pointing to Harry who was unsteadily getting to his feet. The dreadlocked man blinked.

"I call bullshit."

"Oh no, he did it. Without even realizing it too." Death cooed again and flashes over to Harry making the mortal jump back in surprise. "Yes, he'll make a great Master of Death." Harry watched as the dreadlocked God looked as though he had sucked on a lemon before staring at Death suspiciously.

"Oh no, I'm not bowing down to a shitty Mortal. I'd rather have dinner with Metatron than submit my loyalty to a human." Death pouted.

"Hapi! Come on, you know I wouldn't pick just anyone to be my Master. This one's special." Said Death, patting a petrified Harry on the head. "He doesn't even want to be my Master!" ' _Also collected all of the Hallows_ ,  _but he doesn't need to know that._ '

"You have serious issues if you think that's a valid point of him being your Master. Besides, have you even thought about how the others would react to this? This could cause some serious commotion in the lower levels and we'll loose produce in souls. Moreover, Death…Human's can't survive in this place long enough until their body starts decaying."

"What?!" Chocked Harry. He snapped out of his frozen state and slapped Death away from him. Swiftly ignoring the snarl he got in return. "What do you mean, decay? Does this mean I can die?"

Hapi took a moment to stare at how pleased that seemed to make the mortal. Pfft, he won't even try to start understanding the little hellion.

"Easy fix!" Death cried and pulled Harry back towards him. Putting pressure on the mortal's back when he chose to struggle. ' _God dammit!'_  "We just reincarnate him."

'…What _?'_

"That's selfish." Deadpanned Hapi. Choosing to pause for a moment as he realized that he actually defended the little heathen. He flapped his hands in a 'pish posh' gesture. "Bah! I don't care what you do to him, but I ain't bowing down to a defenseless mortal, Death." The Death God jolted back when a bark of laughter came from his superior.

"Defenseless you say? My, the amount arrogance you must have to believe such a thing must be immeasurable. This 'defenseless mortal' as you say, just broke through a barrier seal made by God himself. This mortal, has more power than I care to realize and he doesn't even notice it." Hapi's eyes widened as he took in the weight of those words. His eyes turned over to the mortal who seemed confused as Dickens to what to going on. Internally he winced. A mortal with no understanding of his capabilities. If Death hadn't picked him up when he did…He shivered. Hapi doesn't even want to think about what could have happened if someone down from Hell took an interest in the mortal. "Besides, just think of the possibilities, Hapi." Cried Death, spreading his arms wide. "Us Gods are so busy doing either too much or too little. We used to live not exist!"

Hapi stared. "No. Hells no."

"Come on! Harry's perfect for the job!"

"He's a mortal. What can he possibly know about managing Death?"

As the two badgered on, Harry stood in-between them and pondered on what his life has come to.

"Enough!" Harry shouted, ceasing the argument between Gods. "Right, I agree to being your Master." He ignored the beaming smile and angry huff. "But I have conditions, one, you do not toy with me." Staring at a now aggravated Death. "Two, you do not lie to me. And three, for Christ's sake! Tell me what the bloody hell is going on here!"

The two Gods winced in pain as their new Master abused their ears.

. . .

That was centuries ago.

Oh, how he wished to turn back time and reject the mantle of the Master of Death. He was so naïve in his thinking that the job wouldn't be worse than the crap he had already been through. After all, what could be worse than facing off a Dark Lord since childhood? What could be worse than dying twice in his lifespan and coming back into existence? What could be worse than being tortured, neglected, outliving his loved ones and watching his own child and godson grow weary while he's stuck at twenty?

Again, he was naive.

Death, Harry found out was depressively enthusiastic about him being his new Master that he decided to neglect the essential information vital to his survival in the company. This, being how to manage Death Gods with an inferiority complex worse than Tom Riddle's own. And managing paperwork that included detailed reports on the recently deceased. Not to mention, oh no  _not to mention_ , that he will forever be reincarnated throughout time. Death was a prick, Harry decided.

A decrepit, maddening, excruciating  _prick_. That Harry will be stuck with for the remaining of his miserably wretched life.

But, no.  _Oh no_. He didn't realize this at the time. No no…

Again, he was naïve.

Death did not play dice with the universe. He cheats, lies and plays with people like everyone's his own personal marionette and he's the one pulling at the strings. Everything is of his own devising. The way Harry never ages is thanks to Death. The agony of grief he feels is thanks to Death. His future reincarnations, is thanks to Death.

To Harry and everyone else, Death doesn't have a Master. He doesn't need one.

He was naïve. Oh so naïve to think he could survive this plane of existence. Now though, Harry wishes he could just die already and pass on to either Heaven or Hell. Either one would do, really. He just can't take it anymore. The repeated reincarnations.

In the beginning he made connections. Born into a wizard family in the 1930s. His appearance wasn't much different to his original. He still had his mother's eyes and his father's untamable black hair, but everything else resembled his two new parents. He could roll with that.

When Harry came to realization that he was in the time of Tom Riddle, he almost had an aneurism that caused his parents to rush him to the hospital. When they saw nothing was wrong with him, Harry had already cooled down and got to work. It took a lot of plotting and cool-headedness to decide to try and  _help_  the little heathen to not cause Armageddon. But it'll all pay off in the long run. He hoped.

So, when the letter from Hogwarts arrived, he was already packed and brooding at the thought of meeting a mini Tom Riddle.

It took everything he had to not stab the child in the eye with his new wand when the two finally met.

It also took everything he had to not scream in holy terror and clutch an imaginary pearl necklace at seeing the little hellion. Tom was pudgy, broody, and silently awed at the sight of Hogwarts.

Befriending Tom Riddle wasn't easy. Though, getting close to the boy wasn't as hard as he had predicted considering Tom was a Slytherin and Harry was a Hufflepuff. (He had decided long before, that being a Gryffindor and befriending a Slytherin in this time would not work. Being a Ravenclaw would fry his brain out with that rumored door that wouldn't let you pass into the common room if you couldn't answer its riddles. Harry had this bizarre image of himself drunk and trading jokes with the door. He shuddered. So no. He won't be going into Ravenclaw. That left Slytherin and Hufflepuff. Being in Slytherin would absolutely not do. He wasn't vain enough to believe everyone who's sorted in it turns out evil. Malfoy turned out alright in the end. Merlin was a Slytherin. He didn't have any issues with Slytherin other than it's barmy politics and spoiled little rich kids. That left Hufflepuff. Being near the kitchens was enough convincing for him. And everybody loved Hufflepuffs.) Tom had issues the size of Big Ben and an even worse personality to boot. It took the whole year for him to open up, and Harry soon realized that the both of them weren't so much different.

When the second year came about, Harry was known as the badger who befriended a snake and lived to tell the tale. Sure he had to anonymously take out (threaten) a few rogue snakes that threatened his friendship with Tom, but everything was going swimmingly. Riddle was finally showing signs of happiness and Harry was silently whooping for joy. Without even knowing it, he was enjoying the friendship himself.

Stepping back from dealing with Riddle, Harry was thoroughly enjoying the life of a Hufflepuff. It amazed him how the other houses underestimated these little badgers. At the start he too did not acknowledge them unless the word 'food' was uttered. Oh how wrong he was. Have you ever seen a badger in the wild?

Those furry little beasts eat poisonous snakes for breakfast.

He wouldn't be surprised if one of these puffs were secretly a mass murderer.

His first encounter with a wild puff began when he stole a cookie off one of his house friends. The girl gave him a glare that could rival Bellatrix Lestranges'. The first few seconds were filled with an epic stare-down. Then he hesitantly handed the cookie back and the girl acted as though she didn't just threaten to murder him with her eyes. Then he witnessed an older puff kick a male Ravenclaw in the jewels for hitting on his girlfriend. (In an empty hallway of course with no witnesses – aside himself who was hidden pretty well - to prove that Hufflepuffs could roughhouse it.) Oh and they were sass queens. Harry then came to the conclusion that Hufflepuff is no ordinary house.

He loved this new reincarnation.

Then he hated it.

He hated it because on the first day of sixth year, Tom Riddle confessed to him. It took a while for Harry to fully comprehend what he had been told. The Dark Lord that had murdered his parents and attempted many assassinations upon his person has a crush on him.

Then again Tom Riddle isn't Voldemort. He isn't even close to becoming that monster Harry killed in his past life.

This Tom Riddle was unquestionably different. He was still as cunning as ever, but there's a difference between cunning and a manipulative asshole that wants to commit worldwide genocide based on delusions of grandeur.

That year Harry was an asshole of epic proportions. He ignored Tom and his Slytherin friends (who had accepted the Hufflepuff because they also weren't bias assholes) who had tried to talk some sense into him. Along with everyone else – that included other people in Slytherin and certain Gryffindor and Ravenclaws he associated with - who Tom had dragged into his orbit of 'Harry hunting'. Harry had managed to ignore most of them for a lengthy duration of two months with the help of secret passages that he had memorized from his father's map. Two months of dodging ceased when Tom had somehow managed to corner him in the classroom after Astronomy.

Harry still remembers the look of heartbreak on Tom's face when he did. The boy understandably snapped at him shouting questions and accusations in the speed of light.

" _I…" Harry looks up, meeting Tom's dark eyes and sweeps his hand up to scratch the back of his neck timidly. "I'm not…" He whispers, it's jagged and unsure. Harry certainly didn't expect the Dark Lord to be gay. Least of all attracted to_ him.

" _You're not gay." Tom whispered, chuckling in resignation. "I know-"_

" _No." Harry cuts in, startling the other boy with his crooked smile. "I just didn't expect to return those feelings."_

Harry's known he's been gay - well, bisexual - of course, known it for years. It wasn't frowned upon in the wizarding society like it was in the muggle one. Adam and Eve didn't really apply for wizards and witches when they had potions allowing any gender to give birth. The process was…odd, to say the least. Somewhat painful for men since they had to grow a vagina and uterus and such.

When Harry first found out men could give birth, it had been at seventeen - picturing himself pregnant - he wanted nothing more than to get drunk enough to burn that image from his brain with alcohol. It took a lot for the muggleborns to come to terms with it. More so for their parents.

Harry's own confession leaves Tom in a state of confusion. The poor boy was obviously expecting something along the lines of a rejection. It was Harry's first relationship with a man and surprisingly lenghty. It lasted throughout the rest of Hogwarts and into adulthood. After getting his degrees in teaching, Tom applied for the DADA job at Hogwarts and immediately gotten an acceptance letter. As for Harry, he went into the Auror profession. Big surprise. For the first five years after graduation, the two had settled into a nice house.

Then it happened.

A new Dark Lord rose up from nowhere. Starting a new war that raged on for four years. He and Tom were apart of the new Order run by Dumbledore himself. It reminded Harry bitterly of his past life. The war ends in the streets of Diagon Alley. Tom lands the final blow to the Dark Lord, revealed to be Lucius Malfoy, only to be hit back by the other man.

_Tom's wet coughs wracked his body. Harry managed to catch him before he managed to fall and shouted: "I need a healer!"_

" _I'm fine." Tom says, leaning against his partner in exhaustion. His voice was rough, and his breathing was labored from exhaustion. He wrapped a cold shaking hand around one of Harry's wrists that was holding him up right and just stared at it. Harry closed his eyes is pain._

" _You're not fine you idiot." Gently, he lowers them both down, holding Tom close to his body and almost sobbed when his partner lets out a cry of pain at the movement. "I'm sorry." He says, voice gentle and weak from holding back tears._

_He's seen death long enough to know when getting a healer is worthless._

_Tom reaches out with a trembling hand and cups the back of Harry's neck, pulling him close so their foreheads touch. "I'm dying." He whispers._

_Harry breaths out raggedly. "…I know." Tom twists so he's looking up at his Avada green eyes. Those same eyes that he's woken up to every morning and loves._

" _Harry…" With a soft sigh, Tom gazes at him. Resigned expression. "Thank you."_

When Harry returns to Death, not so long after Tom dies and Harry's killed himself. Death greets him with a sympathetic smile. Of course he knew what had happened. He was the puppet master.

" _I'm not going back to that universe."_

Death shrugged and agreed.

Throughout the next reincarnations, he didn't make romantic ties.

. . .

One day, Death gets an odd request.

He was sitting in the  _Death Corp_  cafeteria, chatting away with Horus when his master dropped down opposite him with a huff and waved a hand at Horus to shoo the God away. The falcon-headed God let out an indignant squawk before storming off.

Death raised an eyebrow.

"That was rather rude-"

"I need a holiday." Harry cuts him off with a dead look in his eyes that makes the God shut his mouth with a  _snap._

He knew this would happen sometime, Harry was of course a mortal. ' _Well_ ,' Death thought with a leering look, ' _just barely.'_ Taking his time, Death examined his master appreciatively. The man no longer held an air of innocence only a human could exude. The changes in Harry's demeanor and appearance started not long after he had officially accepted the mantle of his master. With the acceptance, came the package of Death's powers. Harry is spiritually bound to him, and he's spiritually bound to Harry. Vise Versa. It wasn't as romantic as it sounded. They were sort of like family. Like every other family, they hate each other. Well, Harry does, he's just enjoying the ride.

The difference in Harry was startling if he compared it to the first time he had met the mortal. It started with the hair. Harry's hair wasn't pure black; it always had a brown tint to it when light shined on it. Now though, it was as dark as the abyss outside the window. The hair was wild and a bit gravity defying, it fell around his face and framed his cheekbones. ' _Ah, that's another thing that's different_ ', Death thought in wonder. Harry's face was more shapely and sharp. One could cut oneself a loaf of bread if one pressed it against Harry's chin. His skin was also remarkably pale. He could almost say it was paler than his own, which in and of itself was startling since he's Death. Although, despite all of this. One thing (other than that rudding scar of his), no matter how long time has passed, never once changed.

His eyes.

' _Those remarkably poisonous green eyes that seem to always glow'_ , Death noted. No longer held captive behind those glasses of his. With his eyes and appearance, he doesn't even look human anymore. It made Death smile with pride. Never once has a human been converted into a God of Death. But give it a couple of more centuries he just might. It wasn't on his the list of things to do when he got Harry as a master, but it's now at the top.

"A holiday, hmm?" Considered Death, taking a sip at his pink milkshake. Ever since Harry showed him how to make one a couple of decades back, he's been hooked. "Any place in mind? Hawaii? Japan? You know, I've always wanted to cosplay."

"Not you." He sighed exasperated. Fixing the God with a cool stare. " _Me_. I'm tired. I just want a nice,  _stable_  reincarnation that doesn't give me any additional mental scarring. Could you do that?" Death decided to neglect the sarcasm for his own benefit.

"Why would I?" He asks disinterestedly, making a show of slurping his milkshake. Harry rolls his eyes and in a swift motion, grasps the straw. Squishing it and cutting off the flow of liquid. Death shoots him a dark look.

"Release the straw while you still have a limb."

"Give me my holiday."

Death gave him a sharp huff.

"You're the master, order me to. Or better yet, do it yourself. I know you're more than capable of kick starting your own reincarnations… _Oho_ , don't tell me." Death purred and raised a perfect eyebrow. If Harry were a century younger he would have shivered. "You  _still_  don't know how to do it."

"I'm relatively new to the archives."

Death's smile grew.

"It's been a while. Procrastinating are we?"

"I can't exactly spend much time here before my skin starts decaying." Harry tried to explain.

"Still." He vexed, with a crease of his brow. "You've been here a while."

" _Listen_ ," said Harry desperately. Eyes flashing red momentarily. It shocked the God a bit. Considering that  _shouldn't_  have happened in the first place. "I'm  _tired_."

"Take a nap."

Harry smiled bitterly. "Not that kind of tired. There's a difference between being in dire need of sleep and in dire need of peace. My soul is drained of being repeatedly reincarnated to your satisfaction. I want a holiday. Just  _one_  life where I don't have to do anything other than live  _peacefully_."

Death considered this and had to admit, watching Harry's lives sing to his whims was getting a little old. He always knows what's going to happen because he's the one that creates all the chaos. He wondered. What would happen if he sent Harry into a world that's been untouched by his hand? His body vibrated in excitement at the thought of watching everything play out without his control. Although he isn't that generous, maybe a little push here a shove there. Just to get the ball rolling. Showing no outward sign as to what was going on inside his head, Death stared off with a thoughtful expression.

"So I can't come?" Harry snorted. "Rude…" He sighed heavily and gazed longingly out the window as though Harry was the hard one to deal with here. " _Okay_. I give in."

Harry's eyes lightened and released his grip on the straw. Almost instantly Death was upon his milkshake drinking feverishly.

"You have a serious problem."

"Shut up. It's delicious." After several seconds of silence, Harry rests his head against his enclosed hand.

"What changed your mind?" The words came out before Harry could even process them. "You're normally a control freak when it comes to  _you're Master_  and reincarnations." His tone teasing at the end. Despite his dark expression.

Death shot him an evil look from where he was perched precariously against his drink.

"Oh, go to hell."

" _Couldn't even if I tried._ " Harry sang.

"Good one." Death snorts. "And to answer your question, I felt your angst." Harry took a second to process the odd answer.

"My  _what_?"

Death sighed. "You're angst, kid.  _Jesus Christ on a breadstick_." He scowled into his straw, twirling the patterned plastic around his lips. "There was so  _much_  of it I thought I was going to drown in a sea of self-loathing. It almost gave me hives. Me,  _Death_! My immune system is impenetrable and yet you're angst turned me into a shriveling mess." He was bullshitting to the highest degree here. "You're issues have issues, brat. It's a wonder to how you're still standing upright and not a drooling mess on the carpet." A derisive snort interrupted him and his eyes swung up to meet Harry's cool ones.

"My mental wellbeing, or lack thereof, is all thanks to you."

"To be fair though, you're doing alright aren't you?"

Harry pressed his hands over his eyes and groaned.

"That's why I'm here asking you for a vacation, Death. I need a break or I  _will_  be a drooling mess on the floor."

Death hummed with a reluctant smile. For some strange reason, he felt a foreboding chill run down his spine.

 


	2. A Trip to the Archives.

 

. . .

Vacation: Terminated

Chapter I: A Trip to the Archives

 _Trip to the Archives is more eventful than planned - Forgotten memories resurface - Death secretly interferes -_ _Reincarnation into the Phantomhive family is a success. Harry is now acknowledged as Elijah Phantomhive, the heir to the Phantomhive estate._

. . .

" _Three guns and one goes off_ __  
_One's empty, one's not quick enough_ __  
_One burn, one red, one grin_ _  
__Search the graves while the camera spins_ "

Tessellate, Alt-J.

. . .

He wakes up.

Harry knows the instant he takes a breath of air that something's different. Opening his eyes, he discovers the world is a blur. Blues, greys, yellows, the pinwheel of colour swimming together like a Vincent van Gogh painting. The problem with his sight didn't bother him the least right now (His sight will clear up after a couple of months like any normal baby's would). The real problem waking up as a newborn babe was the inability to know the face of your family and the surrounding threats that could cause him harm. His shortest reincarnation in history lasted around a day. Death decided to dump his soul in 1931 during the China floods. Drowning as a baby was on the list of the worst experiences he's dealt with since agreeing to the contract between himself and Death. So naturally, after that event, he's detested the inability to see properly with a passion.

[Of course Death toys with him and that phobia by randomly reincarnating him into situations that tugs at the fear. Once or twice he's made him blind.]

Although, like he said before, right now not being able to see properly doesn't bother him. This was his holiday and Death granted his wish as to not twist the strings of fate, so he has no reason to worry. Sure, somewhere in the back of his mind paranoia was brewing; Death was as slimy as a snake. Harry didn't trust him as far as he can throw him-But like hell he won't at least _try_ and relax.

Taking a breath, Harry focused on his body's condition. After many reincarnations, adjusting the mind to the body was the easiest thing to do. Like right now, he could tell that his body was in perfect condition for a baby. He's been a doctor in every century possible, so he could tell if his figure was in good or bad condition. So far Death hasn't broken his promise. Just to be on the safe side, he wiggled his toes and fingers, turned his neck, bent his spine and jiggled his legs. He puffed out a sigh of relief. Everything seemed to be in working order.

Harry smiled and settled back in what felt like a crib. He was excited in what seemed to be decades. Probably was too. He hasn't been this excited since…

 _Tom_ …

Shaking his head, Harry forced happy thoughts to come to mind. Right, it was 1880 and his parents are Vincent and Rachel Phantomhive. Both come from wealthy families and comfortable lifestyle. Just what Harry wanted…

. . .

_He hasn't been in the archives since...Well, it must have been a while since he can barely remember where the darn place was located. With that in mind, Harry glanced besides him to Death._

_He twitched in aggravation._

" _Just what are you doing?"_

" _Texting."_

_There was a pause. He stared._

_"While walking…"_

_Death hummed in acknowledgement. "All the craze with the youngsters in the lower levels. The one's that deal with the Twenty-First Century, of course. Got this," he said and jiggled the devise in his hands, "from one of them when checking up on the little runts – "_

" _I don't give a toss about where you got it from. I'm asking_ _ **why**_ _you're on the blasted phone when you're supposed to be taking me to the archives."_

_Death snapped his mouth shut and glared at him as if he were a recalcitrant general._

" _What's with this random hostility all of a sudden?" Death paused and 'ahh'd at him as if he had figured out the mystery of the universe. "Is it because you didn't get a phone? I can ask them to prepare one for you if you want."_

 _Harry opened his mouth to explain that,_ _**no** _ _, he did not want a phone. He wanted his holiday dammit - when a thought popped into his head and he ceased walking. Death stopped ahead of him, a questionable look on his face._

_If Death wasn't taking him to the archives…Then where the bloody hell have they been walking to for the past five minutes?_

_When they finally did get to the archives, the elevator dinged open and Harry had to blink several times to adjust his eyes to the dimness of the room._

_The archives, Harry looked around…it wasn't anything to sneeze about. Everywhere had shelves upon shelves of files. All marked, stamped and sealed shut in their own personal categories (based on Religion, criminals, dimensions, royalty or non-royalty, Witch, Wizard, Mythical creatures, Shinobi…they used to have a gender category but the kids from the 21_ _st_ _Century went all equality on their asses and petitioned to get it removed. Naturally the reapers from 21_ _st_ _Century and up joined forces and well, Harry couldn't exactly say no to them after they went on a hunger strike - he didn't have the heart to tell them that technically nobody can die from starvation in this place except for him. Food up here was optional, you couldn't gain or lose weight, it was all for the pleasure of eating and enjoying the taste). The place was big; resembling a warehouse big, and it reminded him of the tent the Weasley's had. He blinked, shaking the sudden cobwebs building up in his brain. Where on earth did that come from? Internally shaking, he covered the old wounds with choosing to examine the place more clearly. Although it was hard, considering the lights on the ceiling were dimmer than Death's common sense. It confused Harry, since the place was the archives and that entailed reading, writing, and filing._

_The people who work here must have jolly good eyesight, Harry decided with a nod of approval._

_From what Harry remembered, the Archive dealt with the biographies of the deceased. The files - more like novels - contained every important detail of their life, going so far as to the date and time of when they were born to what they were wearing on their tenth birthday. It was so personal and so intricate, it stunned Harry that it was considered the boring job of the company. And only the gossips considered taking the jobs. Looking around, Harry spotted a thin figure with a cart of files shuffling about in the shadows. Pausing once, checking his paper that contained a detailed-looking list, reached into the cart, hauled out a thick file (the universes encyclopedia, Harry mentally muttered) out and shoved it into one of the shelves before continuing with his awkward shuffle._

" _Huh." Harry mumbled with a raised eyebrow. Shrugging once as he caught sight of two separate banners hanging from the ceiling - which was quite high up he absently noted._

_The banner on the left spelled out 'Hell' with a crude cartoon of a fanged horned devil with a pitchfork while the one on the right said 'Heaven'. Although this time the angel was drawn with a flowing white dress and sparkly halo._

_Harry's eyebrow twitched._

_What a nice display of prejudice._

_There, a couple of meters away sat a grubby middle-aged looking man at the desk. Snacking away on a donut. Harry recognized the man immediately. It wasn't hard since he could pinpoint those scars covering half his face as his own doing._

_Humphrey Angelis. What a weirdo._

_The bastard did his best to make his life in this company miserable for the first year. He was almost as dedicated to his suffering as he was to his real job. Which involved managing all of the information of reaped souls and reports on said reaping's. Harry understood his anger towards him though. To most of the Gods up in the higher levels, Harry was Death's plaything. And to the idiots that were so caught up in their own narcissism, it meant that they could get in on the fun too. It was a bugger to deal with._

_He won't go into detail about what they did to him, but most of it involved paperclips and godly powers. They were all mainly childish actions, lacking imagination…until it didn't, when one of the escapades resulted in Harry falling down a flight of stairs and nocking him unconscious for a day (he thinks, time isn't really relative up there), Death finally stepped in and almost smites the lot of them. Apparently he doesn't like his 'thing's to be broken. Ha! Like Harry would ever let himself get broken._

_But…_

_Nonetheless, Harry wouldn't let Death have all the fun._

_Revenge was a dish best served cold._

_Although, thinking back, Harry admits he wasn't in his best frame of mind at the time, and a little overenthusiastic as he exacted revenge on Humphrey. (And it was anything_ _**but** _ _cold.)_

_End result: the Death Gods no longer saw him as an ordinary human that just happened to walk onstage._

_Feeling a tug and pull Harry was pushed out of the elevator. Huffing in irritation and swallowing down the urge to kick Death, he stalked towards the small uncomfortable looking desk. Boxing in the manager of the archives._

_. . ._

_Humphrey, who was enjoying his donut and basking in the glory of finishing his work early, looked up at the sound of the elevator's ding. It was odd, to say the least. It wasn't exactly a secret among himself and coworkers that the archives was the least desirable job of them all. But Humphrey enjoyed his work, he got to read biographies on celebrities and learn their dirtiest secrets. His favorite had to be the people who humans call Presidents. Oho, their secrets were devious and just plain evil. It made him wonder whether Lucifer had anything to do with it._

_Often or not, he's given a reward from Death for sticking with the job for so long. Humphrey loved Death, he was the chilliest boss anyone could have asked for._

_Odd? Yes._

_Psychotic? Sometimes._

_But Humphrey was dedicated to serving him. Even more so since he forgave him for picking on his little toy. At the thought of that meager human (ha! Anything but), his skin broke out in a cold sweat. If you asked anyone, Humphrey did not have a particular favorable opinion of his new boss. After all, he's a kid compared to the other Death Gods. Who would want to take orders from an inexperienced child? Then again, none of them had a choice in the matter. A small part of him, deep_ _**deep** _ _down recognized that after a while the little heathen was doing a satisfying job. Nothing's blown up yet - he flinched, scar tingling (figuratively). He pushed his glassed back up to the bridge of his nose and harrumphed. It's almost terrifying comparing the human centuries back to what he was now. Now that he really does think about it. Calling him human wasn't fitting enough. The power that radiated near the kid made Humphrey and any other God feel like they were drowning. It felt…exactly what he was feeling right now. He was alarmed to say the least._

_Oh. Ohhh Lord._

_Peering up, Humphrey swallowed a squeak at seeing his boss appear from the shadows of the room and loom over him from where he was seated. The donut dropped from his mouth, and Humphrey only just managed to catch it before it hit the floor. Peering back up, his breath got caught in his throat. The light on his desk illuminating the sharp pale features, making him look more demonic than anything._

_[Heat._

_Flickering flames._

_Tearing._

_Cutting._

_Pain. So much pain._

_His skin was shredding. Lungs burning and retching for air. Heavy pants shook his body._

_Burning._

_Everything was burning. His skin was burning, blistering before flacking and curdling into the flames. Flames tearing into his body._

_He was suffocating._

_The fire was hungrily eating him alive. There was nothing he could do to stop it._

_He was dying._

_"That's enough, Harry."]_

_If you considered Humphrey's personality, he was the type who ran from dangerous situations. And this, to Humphrey, was a dangerous situation. Springing from his chair and ready to leg it out of the room, a set of cold hands landed on his shoulders and shoved him back down. The chair squeaked on impact, making two of the three males in the room wonder if it was the chair or skittish man._

_Harry raised an eyebrow behind Humphrey - whom he had to guess was Death, who had somehow, at some point appeared behind him._

" _H-How…" Humphrey cleared his throat and tried to gain what was left of his dignity. "How can I help you, sirs?" Eyes flickering around the room madly. As though he were expecting something to explode._

_Death flashed besides Harry - earning a barely muffled yelp - and tapped his fingers on the desk. Demanding attention._

_And so he got it._

_"Everything alright, Humphrey?"_

" _Yes, sir." He managed to get out, trying in earnest to not look Harry in the eyes._

" _Good!" Death chirped and straightened his spine as he looped one of his arms across Harry's shoulders, ignoring the kid's glare. "I need a recommendation on where to send our Harry for his next reincarnation." Humphrey couldn't hide his startled expression. It was a well-known fact that Death takes pleasure in tormenting his master with the rebirths. Placing the mortal (although the species Harry was is continuously being questioned) in threatening situations as though he were nothing more than one of Death's toys instead of a Master. He heard gossip going around a while back about Death breaking one of Harry's rules when he first got here*. "Somewhere preferably calm, nice family-oh! And a dog. Dog sound good to you?" He asks his master, tilting his head in a way that was supposed to be perceived as cute._

_Harry found it anything but cute. It made him want to kick his face in even more._

" _Take your arm off of me before I shove it so far up your-"_

" _Dog it is!" Death interrupts Harry with a smirk. "And make it a black German shepherd dog." Harry's head snaps to Death, eye's flashing red momentarily._

_Without warning, killing intent hit the room like a bomb._

_And all of a sudden he was back there._

_[_ _Scorching heat eating away at his skin]_

_Humphrey felt like he was being killed, unable to move. As though his insides were being ripped out and shoved back in again._

_[Heavy pressure on his chest, his body being deprived of oxygen. Vivid green eyes staring into his soul.]_

_The aura coming from Harry was malicious and sadistic, promising death and pain. He's never felt anything this evil coming from one person since -_

" _That's enough, Harry." He hears Death say, voice commanding and calm. Just like that day._

_And then it was gone._

_Leaving Humphrey shaking and sweaty, hunched over his desk panting heavily._

_"Any dog will do." Says Harry. "_ Except _a german shepherd."_

_Humphrey weakly nodded as he fixed his glasses with trembling hands._

" _So!" Death said, turning back to his childish persona. "How many options does that leave us?"_

" _Over two-million."_

_Harry scoffed and smacked Death's arm from his shoulders. When he entered the archives he didn't have any high-hopes for finding the suitable family to insert himself into. But this was just ridiculous. With Death's help, it would take at least a week to find one. With that thought in mind, Harry walked off in a random direction, avoiding the Hell side of the room._

" _Where are you going?" Called Death as Harry turned into one of the isles of files._

" _To find a family!" Seconds later he disappeared amongst the dusty files._

_. . ._

_Death waited for a moment, when sensing Harry was well out of hearing range he snapped his head towards Humphrey with a malicious smile. All teeth._

' _Sometimes,' Humphrey thought morosely, 'boss can be a bit frightening.'_

" _Humphrey, do me a favor." He said, tapping his table again in a chilling rhythm. "Get me a file."_

" _Wh-what sort of file, sir?"_

" _The kind I can work with." Understanding what he meant, Humphrey waddled off into the shadows. Leaving Death with a devious smile. He craned his neck in the direction he could hear Harry in and felt a pang of pity for his little master._

' _Stupid little Harry,' he thought and ran a hand through his hair, combing it back away from his eyes, 'don't you know you should never trust a person that has done you wrong so many times? Once was a warning, twice was a lesson, and anything more than that is simply me taking advantage of you.' He sighed in content. Oh how he loves his master. Before he had Harry, everything was so_ boring _._

_And sadly, Death frowned; it was beginning to happen again. Messing with his master felt like he was repeating himself. Nothing new or fresh was happening. He's run out of ideas on what to do, and Harry wasn't helping either. It was almost as if he was uninterested in what was happening around him. So many times his plans have been foiled because Harry's killed himself and returned to him before any of the bombs have gone off._

_It irked him._

_His little pet was beginning to bite back._

_So when Harry came to him today and requested a holiday, it felt like the heavens were shining down on him. Oho, what to do what to do? It's been a while since Death was this excited. His skin tingled in anticipation. He'll let Harry have his fun, let him rest and regain that life he's seemed to have lost and then Death'll swoop in and burn everything to the ground._

_All of his emotional ties he allowed himself to create will be gone._

_As though he were hitting a reset button._

' _Oh Harry.' Death thought fondly, reaching out as if to caress his face from afar. 'Your pain brings me so much pleasure.'_

" _Um...sir? I-I found a file…"_

 _Death tensed and turned around with a glare._ _Years of self-control were the only thing preventing him from breaking Humphrey's neck. And by judging the expression the Achive manager had, he knew that too. Snatching the file titled '_ _PHANTOMHIVE_ _out of his shaking grasp, he flipped through and felt the anger recede._

" _Humphrey, you've outdone yourself." He said and was vaguely aware of the lower-God's prideful smile._

_. . ._

_Harry's meticulous green eyes sped across the page in a flurry. With the help of his newfound ability of speed - another side effect of being here too long, Harry supposed, he was able to speed read each biography that caught his attention. So far he had gone through twenty families all spanning from the 26_ _th_ _century down to the 17_ _th_ _Century in under ten minutes. None of them were all that appealing. Shoving the recent family named Uchiha back on the shelf with a shiver. That family needed all the therapists._

" _If you could, don't man-handle the files, sir." A voice crept up on him and Harry was just able to stop his fist from flying into the person's face and marking the shelf behind him red. When his shock eased, Harry stared at the girl before him in irritation._

" _I almost killed you."_

_She scoffed at him with an unimpressed look. As she stepped further into the light Harry took notice of her sickly features. Sunken red-rimmed eyes, birds nest of a hair, and for crying out loud Harry noted with a mental scoff, her clothes were coated in dust. That knitted jacket she was wearing looked like it was used as a personal duster._

" _If you're done judging my appearance, can you help me out with stacking this file? It's heavier than I'm used to." She said, and avoided his piercing eyes in what was made to seem casual. Harry's upper lip curled in annoyance and his eye twitched when her hand tapped said file impatiently. "_ Well _?" She asked, reminding him of an impatient child._

_Scoffing. With the roll of his eyes, he picked up the massive novel-worthy file with ease._

" _Where does it go?" he asked with a sigh. The girl pointed in the direction a few feet ahead._

" _The Wizard section."_

_Harry paused, eyes widening in a nanosecond of disbelief before covering it with irritation. Huffing in acknowledgement, he followed her tiny body and craned his head to see where she was pointing next._

_He almost dropped the file in disbelief, horror, and confusion._

_The name taped on the shelf read 'Weasley'._

" _Hey! Are you paying attention? I said you can put the file down now." Her voice_ _was_ _echoing through a tunnel of bewilderment. "Hey!"_

_[A red mop of hear._

_Who was it?_

_Laughing._

_Shouting._

_Who was he?_

" _Bloody hell. Spiders, anything but spiders. Why couldn't it be butterflies?"_

_Harry knew him. Once upon a time he new him._

_Screaming._

_Screaming his name._

" _HARRY!"]_

" _STOP IT!" The cry, the wail… it grew in depth... An elongated wail of fear…Dear God his temple was on fire._

_Where was he?_

_From deep inside his consciousness, something broke._

_["I'm Ron, Ron Weasley."_

" _Harry…Harry Potter."]_

_He was feeling dizzy, loosing focus._

" _P-Please…" A woman's whimper seemed to snap his attention back into reality._

 _The woman… The librarian? - What was her_ name _? - Was pressed up against the wall, tears streaming down her face and lips parted, trembling. Her breath coming in short terrified puffs._

_Why was she..._

_"P-Please let me go." She chocked. "I won't be rude again! I swear to you, sir!" As Harry's gaze became clearer he realized._

He _was the one pressing her against the wall. Pulling back, his footing stumbled and body swayed. As if intoxicated._

" _Go." He whispered, hoping she'd heard him._

" _What?" She stared at him, confusion knitting her eyes. "J-just like that?"_

" _Go on." Swiping his hand in a random direction. God his throat burned and his temple was throbbing. The pain just seemed to be getting worse and worse. Like a dam was unleashed in his brain. Memories of people long forgotten were flashing through his eyes. He closed his eyes, limping backwards until his back hit a shelf._

" _Are-are you okay, sir?..." her voice echoed again through the fog._

" _Get out!"_

" _What seems to be the problem here?"_

_Oh great._

" _I don't….he just cracked…Don't know what to do…."_

_What are they saying?_

_[Bushy hair and bright brown eyes]_

_Who was she?_

_He knew her, he_ had _known her, he lived a life with her and the red head. The new memories of a castle, Hogwarts, potions, goblins, giants, Tom._

_Tom. How could he forget Tom?_

_They were no longer hiding in the back of his mind sealed away. Images were fused and ignited. Mixing into reality._

_Their voices seemed to come and go as the pain increased, behind his eyes. He let his body fall to the floor. Temples pounding violently. He shook his head and immediately grimaced, breathing deeply in a vain attempt to calm down._

_There was a blinding flash of green and a woman screamed._

_Lurching forward his hands flung to his eyes. A jolting throbbing pain repeatedly explodinh in his temples. Painpainpainpain! Why him? Why these memories?_

_And suddenly, it was gone._

_His breaths came out in shudders. Sweat rolled down his face, stinging his eyes as his vision slowly came back. Black dots tittered at his vision and he was vaguely aware of another body pressed against his along with hand running through his hair in a soothing manner, he almost let himself relax when the person spoke._

" _Quite the spectacle you put on. But I do have to tell you, attempting to murder your subordinates is usually frowned upon." Harry groaned and tried to roll away when Death's grip tightened. Just then Harry noticed the dubious position they were in._

 _Death was_ spooning _him. From_ behind _._

_Harry shuddered and looked away in embarrassment._

" _You can let me go now." He said, surprised at how hoarse his voice sounded. Death chuckled bitterly and flashed away. The sudden disappearance had Harry falling backwards and banging his head against the shelves. "Owww."_

" _Oh quit your whining." Said Death with a scowl. "You've had far worse than a little bump on the noggin'."_

" _Shut up."_

_Death waited until Harry got up, ignoring the man's trembles in his body as he handed over the file with an annoyed flick of the wrist._

" _Here." Cautiously, Harry took the file and flipped through it, eyes widening in hope and curiosity before glazing over in suspicion._

_Snapping it shut he stared Death in the eyes._

_Death had to suppress a shudder at how they seemed to pierce through his soul._

" _Where did you get this?"_

" _From a shelf." He deadpanned; his wit didn't seem to amuse Harry the slightest._

" _Which shelf?"_

" _Take a pick. There are many."_

_Harry's half-lidded eyes twitched._

"Right. Well, I'll just continue searching. Thanks." He said and flung the file back at Death who caught it with ease.

_Given Death's personality, he wasn't one quick to anger. Oh no, he had his emotions almost always in control when need be. Never has he been quick to anger, lust, envy or any of the seven deadly sins the humans love to embrace at every turn._

_So let it be known, that never in a millennia, would he have guessed that despite all his effort into putting up that wall only for it to be crashed down by one measly mortal. Oh how he loved and hated his master._

_Anger shone in his eyes. 'Why do you have to be so troublesome?' Harry was able to take one step before Death flashed in front of him in a flair of brilliance, arms crossed and eyes accusing._

_It never ceases to amaze Harry how quickly his personality can change within a flick of a switch._

" _I do you a favor and you throw it back at my face without hesitation."_

_The green-eyed man hummed as he gazed thoughtfully into the darkness surrounding them._

" _You're planning something." He turned and faced Death. "What are you planning?"_

" _Of course I am." Death chirped in response. Eyes wiggling. "Nothing to do with you though." 'not a lie' thought Death smugly, 'this is all for me.' "But aren't you just a_ little bit _interested in this?" He said, waving the file in front of Harry. The man just slapped it away with a tired sigh._

" _I don't want it."_

" _And why, pray not?"_

_He scoffed. "Because, it's…" Harry waved his arms to Death with a grand gesture. "you."_

" _Listen," said Death with a roll of his eyes, "You can either waste away a good solid week or two combing through these endless supply of shelves that are repeatedly updated 24/7 while you decay._ Or _," he held out the file, big bold letters spelling 'PHANTOMHIVE' standing out against the faded orange cover, "you take this and have your holiday. A lifetime for you is a month for me. So really, I'm don't have to wait long." Harry stared at the folder and Death swallowed a grin. He could just feel the temptation rolling off of the human in waves._

' _That's it.' Thought Death eagerly. 'Take it. Give in to your human emotions.' Harry reached out…_

_Only to punch Death in the face._

_The collision was abrupt, taking the God in surprise. Death recoiled at the force of the hit and crashed backwards into another shelf he didn't even know was there._

" _If you think that I'll accept a bullshit lie like that you're dumber than I thought." Harry stated in an amazingly calm tone despite his ragged appearance. "Next time, try lying with some fucking finesse." Death looked up in amusement._

" _I'll take that into consideration,_ Master _." Harry stared at him for a moment before scoffing and stalking off, no doubt beginning his search for his next reincarnation. Death groaned in annoyance and laid down on the floor. Glaring in the direction the man went off in._

' _Troublesome guy. Making me do extra work.'_

_With an exasperated huff, Death hauled himself up. The instant his body was upright his vision swam and eye throbbed. What the… Touching his eye the God hissed._

_He…had a black eye._

_Death turned around in the direction Harry was in, disbelief in his stare. The Death God suddenly couldn't breathe._

_Just…what was Harry turning into? Could it be -_

" _Pfft." Death laughed, dark eyes shining. "Impossible."_

_. . ._

_Humphrey Angelis was finally starting to calm down and get back to eating his abandoned donut when Death appeared before him in a blink causing the poor God to jump back stunned disbelief._

_My God,_ no _._

_As much as he adored and worshiped the ground Death walked on, even he had hit limits. And he was at his wits end after all the short chaos he has been through today. His scar throbbed in remembrance of the past._

" _What can I do for you, sir-"_

" _How long will it take for you and your underlings to remove every file that suits Harry's preference?" Humphrey stared at him for a moment, slowly taking a bite into his donut and chewing in thought._

" _Erm, well, there's not many of us down here and there's a lot of files so…maybe a day or…" He leaned back, pupils dilating behind his spectacles at the harsh glare being sent his way. The shadows around him seemed to grow darker and more ominous. "Or an hour. Yeah, an hour tops."_

_. . ._

_Harry's been here three days and he hasn't found a single file that looks promising. Breathing out in exhaustion, Harry slid down to the wall - letting his head rest against the wall. He was somewhere deep in the room – warehouse or whatever you could call this place. The more time Harry spent here, the more he convinced himself to hire personal cleaners for this place. The dust surrounding him was almost criminal._

_He didn't exactly know where he was per-se, but it was definitely somewhere around the 1800's and on the fringes of the room since he was leaning against a wall instead of filing shelves. Lolling his head to one side, Harry peered through heavy eyelids at the stack of files besides him. The pick of the lottery, so to speak. Nothing exciting really, all pretty boring… It was hard to tell the time down here but he was drowsy so Harry settled for one am. His eyes turned to the ceiling, tilting his head to get a better view._

_The ceiling was made of metal and had old-fashioned hanging lights arranged so they aligned themselves with the shelves. Occasionally they flickered and made him feel like he was in an Indiana Jones film. It was eerie sometimes, especially when it was quiet. The people who worked here only added to the effect. Disappearing and reappearing at random intervals. Sometimes Harry could hear them cough or sneeze from the dust, more than once he's caught them converse in whispers behind his back. No doubt talking about him attacking their coworker. Harry groaned at the embarrassing memory, gently banging his head against the wall in a vein effort to rid the memory from his brain. He still doesn't remember how it happened. Sighing, he listened as the sound echoed around him then silence._

" _I'm tired." Said Harry, his voice old and worn. Too old considering his appearance was twenty years of age._

_Absently he took a file from atop the stack and opened it. Eyes blinking the fog in his brain to the back as he read._

' _PHANTOMHIVE'_

_Shutting it closed Harry looked up to see Death looming over him with sunglasses on. Frowning in confusion, he gestured questionably at the spectacles sitting upon Death's nose. Said God seemed to hesitate before removing them._

_Harry snorted._

" _I didn't realize I hit that hard."_

_Death gave a disbelieving huff before elegantly sitting besides his master, sunglasses back on and staring at him expectantly._

" _I still refuse."_

_Death rolled his eyes. "How many files have you combed through?"_

_Harry stared at him cautiously despite his body demanding sleep, "Around two hundred." If Death was shocked he hid it well._

" _And how many seem promising?" There was no response other than a burning glare. "That's it then," said Death with cheer. "You'll be spending the rest of the week slowly decaying and shuffling about this place."_

" _I'll find a file by then. Don't be too quick on the chase old man." The God twitched in incredulity. "Even if I start decaying I won't give up."_

_Sadly, Death believed him, which means that he has to work extra hard to convince Harry to take the Phantomhive file before he turns into dust and bones. Which left not many options on how to go about things. Harry was as stubborn as a mule._

_Not that he could talk, though…He was probably just as bad. Probably worse._

" _What do you think'll happen to you when there's nothing left but dust and bones?"_

" _I don't know." Harry shrugged disinterestedly. "Heaven or Hell maybe -"_

"Purgatory _."_

_There was a pause where Harry looked thoughtful before settling a raised eyebrow at him._

" _You mean the purification thing?" Droned Harry, twisting his body a bit to get a better look at Death._

_The God stared before he seemed to choke on a laugh._

" _Is that what they taught you in Sunday school?" Asked Death. "No no. Purgatory isn't the Judgment Land it's made out for you to believe. It's a lot more…_ twisted _than that. Purgatory is a place where the souls of the supernatural go after they die. And right now I estimate there to be about thirty to forty million souls down there hungry and fighting each other. Just dying for the sweet taste of human flesh. Tell me Harry," said Death "are you prepared to live down there for eternity? Dying then being_ reinvigorated over and over and _over_?"

_They sat in somber silence._

' _Dammit.' Harry thought bitterly, turning away from Death to stare out at the warehouse. And the…thousands upon thousands of files…Maybe if he skimmed through the files it would go quicker?_

_Oh who was he kidding. There are millions of files to go through._

_The Phantomhive file was suddenly looking very tempting._

_And he was feeling very angry._

_Somehow he knew Death had done something. There's no proof,_ obviously _, but he could feel the tell tale prickling of his skin that only happens when something bad has happened and it's Death's fault._

_The silence was broken by the sound of paper tearing. He turned to find the source of the noise when he noticed Death staring at his arm intently. Harry's brow furrowed and followed his line of sight._

_Suddenly he couldn't breathe._

_There on his forearm, a small patch of flesh the size of a twenty cent coin, started to crumple and flake. Floating up like ash from a fire before disintegrating into dust. He was…decaying…_

_He gripped his arm and thought of purgatory. Panic spread through, old memories of war, death and murder resurfaced. What types of monsters he would see there? Another memory flooded his head; Basilisks, dragons, vampires -_

_[Teeth sank into his neck, blood spurting down his throat]_

_\- werewolves, the stuff of legend and nightmares._

_The frightening revelation of him dying here and going there shook him…His fingers dug into his arm as he shook his head violently._

No way was he going there! _Then another form of panic spread through him he would not -_

_The feeling of something land on his lap snapped him out of whatever trance he fell into and Harry looked down to see the Phantomhive file. Seeing it settled what little panic he was in and he gritted his teeth._

" _Your choice." Death said in a smug tone, knowing he already won._

_The sound of his skin decaying only sealed the deal._

. . .

For now he can live a comfortable life. The metaphorical strings that linked himself to Death were severed. The tightrope he was so used to walking on for…God, _centuries_? – Wondering "Can I endure it a little longer?" "Will I fall?" Fall into insanity?... Apart of Harry wondered, is he sane? For enduring such hellish lives for so long, well, it would drive any sane man to fall into the abyss of madness.

It startled Harry a bit for not even recognizing the significance his mental health up until it was mentioned by death. It didn't even register as a concern of his. And he couldn't help but wonder, for the second time that day (or was it night, he couldn't tell with his eyes).

 _Is_ he insane?

Harry pondered on this. Pros and cons:

What factors show that he still has a relatively sane mind? Well, he makes good decisions-Harry grimaced at the memory of him agreeing to be the Master of Death…Okay, so that wasn't a really good decision. But that was before all of this so it doesn't really count. His good decisions up until now were…he blinked.

Nothing – no wait! He made the rational decision of asking for a holiday after realizing that the amount of emotional distress he's been under was beginning to take it's toll. Weirdly enough, at the time he never even thought of linking emotional pain and sanity together. But still. Rational thinking.

Which, those of the insane party were lacking very much of.

Cons…

… _Okay_ , this part – now that Harry thinks about it - wasn't very promising on the scale of things. Sure, some of his reincarnations Harry dabbled in the hit man profession, high-ranked assassination jobs and the likes. Killing didn't really bother him as much as he had hoped it would. Apart of him missed than innocence he had once carried. After a while people to him were nothing more than a bag of crisps.

His mind blurred at the realization that no, he wasn't legally sane. But really, it didn't seem to worry him, as much at it should have.

Harry lolled his head about, absently marveling at the flexibility of a newborn, and chuckled quietly. He shouldn't worry about such a tiny thing. So he's a little insane. To him, all the best people are.

(Except Death. That prick of a cactus.)

As long as he keeps himself in check, nobody will send him to the madhouse – as they call it. So that means no killing, laughing hysterically, and other things that would raise alarm. After a moment of silence, apart from the soft wind outside making the trees rustle, Harry gurgled in irritation.

He told himself to think of happy thoughts dammit!

He snarled at himself, pausing in dread as the never-ending saliva in his mouth bubbled down his cheek and pooled around his neck.

Oh that's just _great_.

Never has a newborn child felt the overwhelming urge to stab someone's neck. Stabbing repeatedly at a neck, blood gushing and painting his body red, before jerking their head to the side violently. His brain was foggy and filled with rage and pain. The faced of all of his victims flashed - _Nonono,_ happy _thoughts. Not maniacal. Nothing good ever happens when he's thinking bad thoughts. Good not bad. Goodgoodgood._ Seriously first Tom and now…

Okay, apparently he was incapable of thinking happy thoughts now since he's gotten the sad and emotional ball rolling. It was pointless.

It. Was. _Pointless_!

Groaning, Harry took deep calming breaths and relaxed his body. Since when did he become so tense? He hardly needs to dwell on such unimportant things, surly this much antagonism he's feeling right now should be bad for this too-little body.

To hell with sanity and Death.

What matters most to Harry right now is enjoying this new life. Staring up at the blurring ceiling, he focused on the noises surrounding him. The creaks in the floorboards from the wind outside…the scent of lavender coating his blankets, Harry smiled softly. A mother's touch. How long has it been since he's felt safe receiving a mother's touch, feeling her soft and delicate hands run through his hair…Slowly and steadily his heart rate calmed down and Harry felt his eyes become heavy.

Before falling asleep he couldn't stop a giggle bubbling it's way through his lips.

For the first time, in a long time, he felt that he could call this place home.

If only he knew what was to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - As it was said in the last chapter when Harry made a list of conditions “You do not toy with me”. Sorry Harry, but Death lies.


	3. Serpent's Tongue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The timeline is a bit wonky, but nothing too drastic. Oh God, I’m absolutely terrible at depicting children. So I had to rewrite this chapter so much. Sorry if it’s awful.
> 
> I have a tumblr! My account is aambassador666. I’ve uploaded a drawing I did of Death, so check it out!

 

. . .

Vacation: Terminated

Chapter II: Serpent's Tongue

_Elijah is under suspicion from caretaker – Local church declared Elijah a demon – People are poisoned – Attempted kidnapping - Vincent Phantomhive interrogates._

. . .

" _Little voices buzzin poison_

_Backward noise from everything_

_Dr Swango_

_Says I'm psycho_

_Says they all from Neverland_

_They'll never ever let me be_

_Was that your voice or was that me?_ "

Mama's Gun, Glass Animals.

. . .

Childbirth, it seems, is not as beautiful as his mother made it out to be. His mother, bless her soul, told him that it was the most joyous experience in her life and nothing on earth could compare the feeling of giving birth.

'Well,' Vincent thought 'she got the last part right.'

"GET IT OUT!"

'Not so sure Rachel can relate with the first, though.'

"Push!"

"I AM! I HAVE BEEN FOR THE PAST HOUR!"

Vincent gave his wife an encouraging look and shush'd her. 'It's only been five minutes.'

"Miss you have to be patient." Said a random nurse.

" _Patient_?!" She threw her head back and scoffed. "You men are all the same! I HAVE A TINY HUMAN WANTING TO COME OUT OF ME AND YOU'RE ASKING ME TO BE PATIENT!"

Under normal circumstances his wife would apologize for her behavior, but then again…Vincent winced at the tight grip his wife had on his hand (something cracked) as she began to breath heavily. He couldn't exactly correct her manners at a time like this.

"Miss-"

" _OH DON'T YOU START._ "

After a lot of pushing, shouting and crying (on Rachel's part), Vincent was forcibly removed from the room. Apparently he was only distracting them from doing their job with his terrified and thrilled chatter to distract his wife from the pain. He snorted, from what he was saw back there the lot of them were running around like headless chickens letting his wife do all the work.

Swallowing a yawn, he pocketed his hands and leaned against the door.

It was a right shock waking up to his wife screaming in his ear about babies and labor. Even more so when he saw the state she was in. Good Lord, his mother must be a masochist because the 'beauty of birth' looked as though his wife was being possessed by Satan himself. Thankfully Tanaka was there to help him take care of his screaming wife. When they did finally arrive at the hospital, Vincent noticed one small detail. He forgot to take care of himself.

So here he was, rugged and nervous; hair askew, clothing folded inside out and missing a sock. Also a tad twitchy.

He chuckled, a bitter taste in his mouth.

 _Nervousness_ …well, this was new.

Hearing a baby's cry, Vincent twisted off the wall and barged into the room.

"Sir! You can't be in here. _Sir_!"

Vincent suddenly went very still and took a deep shuddering breath. His wife smiled up at him in exhaustion, face flushed from the ordeal. There in her arms lay a little bundle wrapped a towel.

"It's a boy."

. . .

"How about Nicholas?"

Rachel made a disgruntled sound, scrunching her nose up in disgust. "I rather fancy something a little more elegant and a little less rowdy. All the Nicholas's I've come across are drunken barbarians. Our son is _not_ going to be an alcoholic Vincent."

"Alright then, dear. How about something more traditional then?" Said Vincent, staring intently at his son sleeping soundly in his wife's arms. "Hmm… _Henry_?"

Rachel looked doubtful.

"As much as I love our Royal Family, love, our son is not going to marry over three women. I forbid it."

"But it's a decent English name." He tried, but wilted at the look his generally good-natured wife gave him.

"I forbid it."

Vincent swallowed his disappointment. 'But he looks like a Henry!' Tilting his head as though getting a better angle will produce better results, his eyes traced the face of his pudgy son. "Hadrian?"

His wife looked thoughtful for a moment as they both stared down at the newborn. " _Hadrian_." She said slowly, getting the feel of the word. "Had _rian_."

"Hadrian." Vincent joined in, liking the sound of the name. He beamed with pride. "Hadrian Phantomhi-"

"No, I don't like it."

Vincent looked wretched. "You know," he said, a trifle testily, "some families decide on one name and that's the end of it." Rachel gave him a sidelong glance, making Vincent pause in visible fear. If anyone else looked in and saw the Queen's Guard Dog, the Master of Manipulation, the wolf in sheep's clothing stop talking in _fear_ because of his _wife_. It would have been a double-check moment and wonder if their tobacco had been laced with some kind of hallucinogen.

Suddenly, the warning he got from the good doctor who delivered his son came back to him.

" _Under no circumstance should you irritate your wife. Women after childbirth are scary. People who think women are inferior are either arrogant or have never met a woman after giving birth, so son, I'm telling you now._ Tread carefully _."_

Vincent coughed slightly and muttered an apology along with a "yes dear," and "anything you say dear," before patting her strawberry blonde hair. It seemed to have the desired affect because she didn't bite his head off.

"I want a name that suit's him, not something random as though we don't care. He deserves a name that means something significant..." She said, her hand gently caressing their son's cheek. The baby gurgled in his sleep at the touch and gave a big yawn. Vincent smiled at the sight, heart warming in content. It was at a time like this that he reminded himself that he's a father. "What are you smiling at?"

"You two. You're both so beautiful." He said bluntly, enjoying the way his wife flushed at the statement.

"Honestly, you…" His smile only made her blush deeper. "At a time like this…"

"…Hello? Sister?"

Rachel's eye's twinkled in delight when she peered over Vincent's shoulder.

"Angelina!" She cried softly as to not wake the baby. "You came." The sound of heels clicking against the tiled floors behind him alerted Vincent to the girl approaching. Albeit a little hesitantly. Vincent suddenly felt a pang of awkwardness erupt within him. Seemed like today (the sun had already risen) was the day of newfound emotions.

How would Angelina react to seeing their son?

He knew the girl fancied him from the first day they met. He would have reciprocated those feelings had it not been for Rachel to steal his heart first with her soft-spoken words, gentle character and heart of gold. Angelina always had this fire in her as red as her hair (despite the girl not noticing it) and Vincent had a feeling that it would one day get the better of her.

As cruel as it was, Vincent could not let any of that temper get close to him and his work-in or out of the underworld. That untamed chaos that seemed to linger around her was dangerous. The only reason _why_ he still associated with that girl was because his wife was very fond of her sister.

So, in turn, he will play the welcoming husband.

"Ah, Miss Dalles." Vincent smiled as he twisted around in his seat to see the small shuffling girl. "How have you been?" Red eyes peered from under equally red bangs.

"I have been well, Mr Phantomhive-thank you for asking. Father will be here soon, sister, I'm afraid he was held up with some gifts he wished to give you." She replied timidly and turned her attention to Rachel propped up on the bed. For a second Vincent saw a flash of bitterness as she noticed their son before concealing it swiftly with a soft smile. He had to hand it to her; if he were anyone else he wouldn't have noticed. "He looks just like you." Vincent ignored her crestfallen tone in turn to look closely at his son. Tilting his head to the side, Vincent beamed.

"Hmm, I guess he does doesn't he?"

. . .

They decided to call him Elijah. The name of the Old Testament prophet who went to heaven in a chariot of fire.

. . .

**Mary Lishman**

The caretaker looked back at the child staring at her and wondered if she should say anything to her employers - the Phantomhives. Not once has the child cried while being in her care, which unnerved the young lady with a passion. She's been in the caretaker - Nanny - business for over seven years now and is well respected despite her youthful age of 26. Mary is known for her peaceful and kind manner when handling children, and is currently a favorite within the noble families. It wasn't a surprise when the Phantomhives employed her, such an opportunity would be good for her to continue to show off her skills as a nanny.

Although - she would never say this out loud, the main reason she took the job was more for her morale than anything. It wasn't often to be employed by handsome young men such as Vincent Phantomhive. His face seemed to be a gift from God, one that Mary is quite thankful for – yet, does not want to see right at this moment.

Why? Well, not once has a single child she has looked after been so silent.

Most of the time she wondered if the young babe had dropped dead. Yet, every time she saw the little chest rise up and down signaling life, she sent a prayer to the heavens. Never has her heart felt so strained. Against her moral wishes, it was not out of concern.

It was out of fear.

The child frightened her to the core. Mary didn't pray for the babe every time she saw life, she prayed for _herself_. To make sure whenever she turned her back, the baby wouldn't steal her soul or twist her mind to do it's bidding.

If anyone were to pick up on these thoughts, Mary would be sent straight to the asylum or worse, arrested for potential child endangerment. These thoughts were what kept the woman from suffocating the child with it's pillow every night. 'Just be professional, Mary' she says to herself in the morning, 'think about the money. When the child…' she pauses because that thing in the other room is certainly not a child. 'When the _child_ is old enough you won't be needed and this will all be over.' Most of the time it works, other times…she takes a shot of whiskey. Not enough to be smelled on her, but enough to calm her racing heart.

Unethical, she knows, but it soothes her nerves enough to do the damn job.

The first time Mary had the feeling something was off with the child was when her eyes connected with his. Her first thought was how amazingly green they were. It wasn't the standard green like she herself had. It was an unearthly green. The kind she's seen only on plants or poisons hidden in her father's medicine cabinet. The next thought sent a swell of anxiety to hit her chest. 'Inhuman.'

Those eyes were _aware_.

Gazing into her skull as though he were reading her mind like an open book, sorting through her private memories and judging her sins with a ferocity that made Mary's spine tingle with dread. Carefully, she eased her eyes away from the child, wondering how long she had been staring at him because Lord Phantomhive gave her a suspicious stare. Thankfully, not as intense as his child's, Mary idly noted.

The second time Mary knew something was off, was whenever she had a sour thought about the child being difficult, the babe would give her an almost irritated glance.

The third time was what really tipped the scale. She caught him reading. At first Mary didn't know how to react. The thing was sitting on the table - now how did _that_ happen? - and staring down at his father's discarded newspaper with an intense concentration. Squinting and moving a finger under each word carefully. Mary's heart pounded in her chest and with careful movements walked out of the room quietly.

Mary knew then that she had to consult a priest about this because after seeing _that_ she could not blame her overactive imagination anymore. No matter how hard she tried.

After many talks with the local church, they told her about demons.

It seemed that the child knew what she had been up to because the very next day he was staring at her in amusement. The baby opened his mouth as if to speak before giving a little huff and roll of the eyes.

So now she was staring at him, weighing the pros and cons of consulting her employers about the demon that lay in their midst.

. . .

"I'm worried."

Vincent looked up from his newspaper with a frown.

"Pardon?"

"Elijah," started Rachel, staring at their son's peaceful expression in her arms with no little amount of concern. Their caretaker Mary standing behind her respectfully. "He sleeps too much and barely makes a peep. Something must be wrong with him." She said, her voice edging near hysteria. "All the other mums I know who have babies keep them up at night. They cry, scream and wail like there's no tomorrow. Why's he so quiet?"

He watched her in silence, not voicing that he too have been worried about their all-too-quiet son. Vaguely he noticed Mary open her mouth as if to speak her thoughts on the matter, before closing it.

"He's perfectly healthy, dear." Sighing and getting up from his seat, he squeezed her shoulder tenderly before walking to the window in the kitchen. Staring out into the open fields. "I already had him examined."

Mary's eyes flashed in shock. 'Oh God, do they know?' She wondered in horror, staring at the demon in it's mother's arms, waiting for hellfire to be released. For her skin to burn to a crisp and wake up in hell to be tortured.

But it never happened.

There was a pause and Vincent could practically hear the clogs turning in Rachel's head as she processed his words.

"… _Excuse_ me?"

"I didn't want you to worry you so I had him privately examined by a professional. Everything's fine, he's just a…sleepy child."

"Doesn't make me any less concerned." He heard his wife mutter and sigh. Turning, Vincent patted his son's head, feeling the soft skin and growing hair under his palm.

It's been eight weeks since he came into this world, and so far Elijah's been the most well behaved newborn Vincent's ever laid his eyes on. He and his wife were prepared for sleepless nights, fits of crying and temper tantrums as soon as they heard the news of Rachel's pregnancy. What they weren't prepared for was complete and utter silence, apart from the occasional squeak alerting them to something wrong. Say for, diaper changes, in need of food or attention (which their lovely nanny took care of the most).

Oh, attention was what he got. _Nonstop_. Partially out of fear that he would drop dead any second, and mainly because he and his wife were very attached to the child. Close to overbearing.

Vincent gingerly entwined a thumb around his son's little hand-the baby gurgled in his sleep causing Rachel to huff in amusement. Vincent stared at the little appendage, marveling at how something so small and precious could exist. A part of him was thankful for Elijah's silence; it made his work for the Queen much easier. Earlier on he was stressed at how many sleepless nights he would have gotten, making him dread work for the near future. Then the other part of him was angry at being pleased with such a thing. His son's silence was worrisome. He wasn't a mute; his vocal chords were in top shape according to the Doctor to make that diagnosis. And he had no past mental scarring or trauma that would have made him a selective mute – he's a baby, if there were any mental scarring they would know about it. So in the end, the Doctor was mystified and told him that it could just be his personality.

Vincent decided right then and there, that Doctors are absolute morons and should be slapped with the bible if they would think he'd be satisfied with that ridiculous answer. But he refrained from doing so and instead asked for him to come up with other possibilities.

For now he'd be keeping a close eye on Elijah – not like he wasn't doing that already. Knowing that his health wasn't in danger and that he hadn't inherited asthma from Rachel put aside some of the worry.

Maybe it was mental?

If it was, Vincent swallowed a sigh, then that just makes it harder to figure out what was wrong. Thinking back to the Doctor's words, Vincent wished it was Elijah's personality, but a little part inside of him said something was _deeply_ troubling his son.

He snorted and pecked the baby's cheek.

Or he was overreacting.

Probably overreacting.

Let it be said, Vincent Phantomhive can be one overprotective son of a bitch.

. . .

It was at a family gathering (held outside in the fields at his family estate), when somebody pointed out how abnormally silent Vincent and Rachel's child was.

He was standing in the field under a tree in the shade, conversing with Francis, her husband and Vincent's father-in-law. Rachel was off with her sister in the flower garden, enjoying the time she had away from Elijah since taking care of the babe took up most of her time.

"Is he a mute?" Asked Francis in worry, peering into the playpen where the children were. It wasn't hard to distinguish his child from the others. While the other children were either fiddling with their toys, whining or trying to roll about. Elijah was silent.

Elijah, Vincent gave a worried grin - was sitting up and staring at the sky with vivid green eyes, ignoring Francis's child Edward that tried to gain his attention.

"No." Vincent put on a charming smile, directing the attention away from his son. "He's just quiet, I think he enjoys it."

"Well, we'll just have to fix that won't we? Can't have a child being silent, he'll wilt like a flower in your family business if he doesn't know how to interact as a child." Barked his father-in-law in good nature, grinning huge and loud as he began to stomp his way over to the playpen.

Vincent watched in open interest, wondering how Elijah would react to his father-in-law's advances. Normal baby's would preen at the attention and giggle in joy. Given the fact that Elijah was anything but normal, Vincent's decided that whatever a typical baby would do, Elijah would do the exact opposite.

Vincent's already got three reactions Elijah would give if one would try to interact without his consent

1\. Ignore your existence.

2\. Glare at you.

3\. Nod and shake when all of the above doesn't work.

Although, Vincent recommends stopping once he glares. The last person that got the last reaction ended up on the baby's hit list and got vomit all over her when she tried to pick the child up – Vincent winced in sympathy for Mary. Poor girl.

Watching from the distance, Vincent observed his son's reactions as the older man knelt down besides him and talked animatedly.

Elijah's attention stayed up at the sky, like predicted, and ignored him. After a few short seconds, his eye's snapped towards the man. Vincent frowned when he heard a soft gasp come from the man.

"I wonder what happened." Francis said to him. When the graying man walked towards him with a troubled expression, Vincent began to worry.

"Your child is far too aware." Muttered the man, patting his brow down with a handkerchief. "When his eyes connected with mine, it was as though he was weighing my soul. Judging my sins and reading my mind. Son, that is no child. That is a devil."

Besides him Francis gasped and Mary dropped a teacup.

"Pardon?" Vincent said, dangerously calm. It seemed to shut his relatives up as they all waited in bated breath. "Did you just say my child was a devil?" Despite his face and posture showing a composed and calm man, inside he was furious and aghast at what he had just heard.

The man sighed.

"I understand how this must seem, but you must trust me when I say that, that child is…not of this world."

"You spent five minutes with him." Vincent deadpanned, voice laced with underlying anger.

"I've had children Vincent," said the man, eyes focused as he leaned forward. "I know how baby's develop. They cry and whine and throw tantrums. That thing back there had the eyes of an old man that has seen and done things that the devil himself would do." Confusion and anger welled up inside his chest. "You need to kill it, or at least hire a priest."

This time it wasn't just Francis that gasped, but her husband too.

"I need to ask you to leave." Said Vincent, voice beyond calm and filled with rage. "Before my wife hears you say these atrocious things and disowns you."

"Vincent, you need to listen to me. I know best."

"Tanaka!" The butler appeared, expression barely concealing his rage if one looked close enough.

"Yes, sir?"

"Please escort Mr. Dalles out."

The older man reared back as if he'd been struck.

"Understood, sir. Right this way, Mr Dalles." Tanaka gestured with a wave of his arm. Mr Dalles stared at Vincent somberly.

"That boy will be the death of you."

. . .

As Mr Dalles heaved himself into the carriage a young woman with flowing black hair came rushing up to him.

"Mr Dalles! Please sir, I need to speak with you!"

The elderly man sighed, recognizing the lady as his grandson's caretaker.

"I need not hear your spiteful tongue Miss –"

"You're right about the child being a devil." Mr Dalles paused and stared. The serious look on the lady's face sucking in his attention. "Please sir, I need your help."

. . .

A day later Vincent was contacted by the doctor. They found out what was wrong with Elijah

. . .

Vincent held his son close to him and began to hum a lullaby he had heard his wife sing to Elijah at night.

"How could this have happened?" He heard one of the maids ask in horror as she stared at the scene before them. "How did we not notice?"

"We saw what we wanted to see." Said Vincent, rubbing his chin against Elijah's mop of black hair. 'Never again.' "We wanted to see a beautiful kind lady willing to take care of Elijah. So we saw her. She hid her true intentions well." 'Never again will I allow a stranger near my son.'

"But Mr Dalles -"

"Is dead." Vincent cut her off in anger and disgust. "He is no family of mine. That man attacked my son—a _baby_ a _child_ , with the intention of harming him. I will not mourn that man. Neither should you."

"Yes, sir. I understand but…what of Lady Rachel and Angelina? He was their…"

Vincent sighed and switched his gaze from the bloodied nursery to down the hallway where Rachel and Angelina were. He could faintly hear their sobs coming from his office.

"That is none of your concern, this is a family situation."

"Yes, sir."

Vincent turned his gaze back to the nursery where police filed in and out of, collecting data of the crime scene. Often he heard the police mutter under their breath in disbelief of the situation. Vincent didn't blame them. The whole thing was disturbing.

Mr Dalles along with some church fanatics broke in and tried to kidnap Elijah, all under the influence of the insane idea of him being a demon.

They didn't get far before their throats all erupted with blood.

The medical examiner on the scene said it was some sort of recent poison that caused their throats to bleed and fill their lungs, shutting off all airways. It implied that somebody knew what the church was going to do and decided to poison them instead of informing the police.

Whoever it was, Vincent was grateful and indebt to them.

"Lord Phantomhive." A spiteful voice caused Vincent to break from his thoughts. Coming out of the nursery, commissioner Randal approached him with the usual bitter look about him. Although this time, it was a lot more tame and sympathetic – if one looked close enough. "I take it you want to see the suspect. When she is awake, that is."

"I hope that's alright, Commissioner."

The man snorted.

"Like I have a choice." There was a short pause as the man's bitter expression softened. "How's Rachel?" It never ceased to surprise Vincent that his wife knew Randal as children.

"In shock. This was all quite unexpected, as you can imagine."

"I can't." He clipped and the bitter expression was back. "I'd hoped the insane church devotees were gone when the Queen, God bless, took the throne. But it seems I was wrong. Like worms coming out of the woodwork." Randal shivered and peered back into the nursery with a sigh. "How's the little one doing?"

"Blissfully oblivious."

. . .

Vincent sat across from Mary, arms crossed and face devoid of emotion. He wasn't an amateur when it comes to interrogation, he did work for the Queen (God bless) after all. It would be beneath him to not succeed the Queens expectations of his abilities.

The woman across from him was hunched over holding a cross and muttering a prayer, what she was saying meant nothing to Vincent. Her words were slurred and jumbled thanks to the bruises manifesting her flushed face.

He reminded himself to thank the guards once this was over.

"Did you poison them?" Mary stopped her prayer and looked up at him through glassy eyes, horrified at the question.

"Absolutely no-ah!" She flinched in pain. Holding the side of the jaw as the muscles pulsed. "Why would I do that to my friends?"

"Do you know who did then?"

"You wouldn't believe me."

Vincent's jaw clenched, understanding where she was going with this.

"You claim my son did the poisoning. He's only a couple of months old; the only way he can move at all is to roll on his back and stomach. Any evidence to support your wild claim?" As though setting a feral animal free. Mary lurched forwards, chains tying her down to the floor strained against the violent reaction. Vincent stayed completely still, meeting her gaze steadily. Her eyes held the deep burning madness.

"Do I have evidence?!" Suddenly, crazed laughter tore from her throat. Head flung backwards as hysterical giggles filled the dark room. Vincent did not move; there was nothing he could do to stop her. She was clearly loosing it. " _Do I have evidence_ – _Why_! You only need spend a day with that demon spawn to see why I did what I did!"

"Evidence." He replied firmly after waiting for her chuckles to die down.

"A demon wouldn't leave evidence when it doesn't want any to be found. Only I can see it."

"Any why is that?" Asked Vincent, folding his hands on the table. Feigning interest. Mary bought it and tried to lean in further, the chains creaked as they strained.

"He was playing with me." She said, eyes wide in fear as though remembering something painful. "Sometimes, he would stare at me - with those horrible green eyes of his – and just do _nothing_. Sitting there like a porcelain doll, staring at me. I can feel him inside of my mind sometimes." Said Mary, slamming a fist repeatedly against her temple. "Twisting things - _memories_ and making me see things that aren't there. Sometimes a shadow moves. Sometimes _he_ moves. One second he's there and then he's not. Over and over again. And then he acts like nothing happened, as though _I'm_ the one causing him grief. But I see it! I see he's amused! And then he speaks…Oh _God_ does he."

Vincent raised an eyebrow. Not expecting that.

"Elijah speaks?" ' _I_ mpossible. He's only a couple of months old. The furthest he's gotten in speech is Mum and Dad. This only solidifies her case of being mentally imbalanced.'

"He _hisses_." Mary corrected, voice trembling. "More than once I've caught him hissing to himself or the snakes in the garden. Speaking the serpent's tongue!" She cried, suddenly hysterical again.

"You let him near snakes?" He asked in dawning horror, mind flashing through all of the dangerous possibilities that could have happened to Elijah if one of those snakes had gotten too close. Vincent restrained his desire to strangle the woman and watch the life bleed out of her eyes.

"You're missing the point! He can _talk to snakes_. He's a demon Lord Phantomhive! You need to let me go so I can send him back to hell. I've been taught how to! If you only just -"

Vincent slammed his fist down on the table making the woman jump back in fright. Taking a deep breath, Vincent calmed himself as he ran a trembling hand through his hair.

"Apologies, Miss Lishman. I lost myself for a second there, where were we? Ah, yes, you were talking about my child being a demon. Don't you think that's a little insane?"

"Not at all, Lord Phantomhive."

"Not even a little?"

"Nope."

Vincent stared. "You do realize the situation you're in, yes?"

"A bit hard not to, sir." Her jaw clenched and in an instant she winced. There were a few seconds of silence as Vincent tried to calm himself by fantasizing all the ways he could kill the woman opposite him. "Sir." Vincent hummed in acknowledgement. "You do realize the situation _you're_ in, yes?" Throwing the question back at him.

"Yes, I have a demon for a son. As you've stated. Repeatedly."

She didn't seem to appreciate his humor.

"How can you not see it?" Mary asked. Breathing in astonishment as if he were an idiot. "The way he's aware of everything around him and how he acts around people it's as if –"

"Elijah's a genius."

Silence descended upon the room.

"…What?"

"You heard me." Vincent said, a tad too smug. "In the beginning I was just as paranoid as you were. Thinking to myself 'his eye's are aware' 'why doesn't he giggle?' 'why isn't he acting like a _normal_ child?'. Although, I must say I never even humored the idea of him being a demon. Because that would be _crazy talk_." Not wasting the opportunity to make the woman flinch. "I tired every possibility out. Diseases, brain damage, sickness…and then it happened."

"What happened?"

"Mmm." Vincent hummed, rocking back in his chair. Brown eyes twinkling in mirth. "I don't feel like saying."

"Tell me!"

"Why should I? You obviously don't believe me. What?" He asked, raising an unimpressed eyebrow at the way the woman snarled at him. "Demons are more believable than my son being a genius? He _does_ have my DNA, and we all know how much of a prodigy I was back when I was a child."

Mary shook her head in denial.

"No! _No,_ I saw him talking to snakes! He reads…" Her smile stretched to impossible lengths. "He reads. I've seen him read your newspaper on the table. Now, how could he have gotten up _there_? He must have teleported –" Mary cut herself off at seeing the amused expression the man had. "What? Why are you smiling?"

"When did you see this?"

"Just-just a couple of weeks ago…" Mary felt her stomach sink as the eyes began to twinkle again.

"My my, what a coincidence. It seems you have misinterpreted the situation, Miss Lishman. _I_ was the one who put him on that table. _Why_? Because I was teaching my son how to read, he _is_ a genius after all. I only want him to reach his full potential."

" _What?_ No, no I saw him! He was alone."

"Yes, I left him for but five seconds because Tanaka needed me for something."

"No…" Mary replied quietly, shaking her head. "You're lying!"

"You need help, Miss Linsher. A lot of it." Said Vincent cooly. "You've endangered my son on more than one occasion. Manipulated Mr Dallas into committing an unspeakable act, that in the end, killed him and more than one person. Not to mention you _betrayed my family_."

"This doesn't make any sense." She said weakly, frustrated tears pooling in here eyes.

"No." He whispered. "This makes perfect sense. Now, answer my question. Who poisoned those men?"

"I-I don't know anymore…"

"Whoever did, left you alive. Why?"

Mary's eyes widened in horror, as if realizing something. "I don't know. They-they might kill me…I might die."

"Maybe." Hummed Vincent with a nod, raising an eyebrow at the pleading expression on the woman's black and blue face.

"Help me."

He smiled softly.

"No."

"Wh-what?" Vincent gave her a withering look.

"My, you must be deranged if you think I'd help the lady who almost murdered my child." The woman ducked her head with a gasp and trembled. Tears spilling down her cheeks.

"I see."

There were a few seconds of silence during which Vincent felt his satisfaction at successfully breaking Mary's spirit. Sighing soundly in content, he got up to leave.

"Wait." He stopped, glancing disinterestedly at her. "B-Before you leave and before I go to…" She winced. "Can I know?"

"Know what?"

"What happened to make you think your son's a genius?"

Vincent narrowed his eyes.

"Make me think, huh? So you still believe...Yet, you're crying."

Mary glared. 'Oh, spirit's not so broken then.' Vincent thought despairingly with a huff of disappointment. It's always hard to make a crazy person who believes they're sane, not sane.

"These tears aren't from self-pity." She spat. "These are for you. For your blind faith in your demon spawn." Now, Vincent's never been one to his a woman, but his hand lashed out and he was only just able to stop himself. Mary did flinch, but she also laughed. "He's gotten his claws into you so deep, you no longer see reason. I pity you."

"And I you."

"Well?" Mary sniffled, wiping at her eyes. "Can you tell me?"

Vincent straightened himself out and checked his fob watch for the time. Five minutes left before Randall comes to get him. To make sure he doesn't 'leave any permanent damage' to his suspect.

"Give me a good enough reason to and I might."

Mary wilted.

"I can't give you one. Unless my curiosity counts." He hummed in amusement and stared into the shadows of the room left by one flickering light hanging from the ceiling.

"He said my name."

The woman blinked in astonishment before cracking up.

"He has you tied around his tinsy finger-"

"My name. Not _Dad_ , but my name. Vincent Phantomhive." He said with a smile at the memory. "Oh, and he was tested." Raising a challenging eyebrow.

"Tested?" Questioned Mary quietly.

"By professionals who have met actual geniuses. They confirmed it a while back. I haven't told anyone yet, because Elijah's a very lazy soul and I don't want him to have any kind of pressure that comes with being a known prodigy like I did. Although after today I will _definitely_ tell everyone. Don't want anymore church fanatics to come bursting down our door again. Such a hassle to deal with." Vincent said and enjoyed the way the woman sunk back in her chair, obviously at war with herself.

Finally giving into his desires, he leaned across the table, palms pressed against the cold metal. Face hovering above hers, Vincent gave her a cruel smile. Then suddenly, without warning, he slapped her. It was sharp and loud, echoing in his ears.

"If I had it my way you I wouldn't be here interrogating you, but unfortunately there are rules when it comes to killing."

"G-God would save me."

He gave her a cold sarcastic laugh.

"God's abandoned you, dear. In the worst possible way, because you see, I'm not that soft doting husband I make sure everyone perceives me to be." Mary laughed shakily, tears welling in her eyes from the sting of the slap.

"I've gathered that much."

"Elijah's not the demon you should be worried about, Mary. _I am_." Suddenly, as if she had been shot. Mary gasped, breaths coming in quick takes. "There you go. You're finally beginning to understand the situation you're in." Vincent smiled appraisingly as Mary trembled in terror, sweat forming on her hairline. She watched wearily as the shadows around him seemed to hug his body like former lovers. "Before I go, let me give you a sliver of advice." Mary almost screamed when his face appeared inches from her own. "Watch out for needles in the asylum. You never know what they're giving you."

There was a brief knock at the door that had Vincent straightening up, hands sliding into his pockets, appearing as though he hadn't just threatened her with murder. It eerily reminded Mary of Elijah, sending a shiver down her spine.

Like father like son.

"Come in." Vincent shouted softly, eyes never leaving hers. No matter how many times she tried to look away, his gaze captured her like predator to prey.

The door opened and Commissioner Randall strolled in, not seemingly interested or concerned with Mary's trembling form and red cheek.

"Good to see there aren't any extra bruises or permanent damage…" The man paused and examined her body just to be sure. His mouth twisted into a grimace. "There isn't, is there?" Vincent laughed, light and pretty.

"Why? Is it that obvious?"

Mary would have gaped in astonishment if she weren't so terrified. 'He just admitted to breaking the law and…' Randall sighed and ran an exasperated hand over his face. ' _He waves it off?_ '

It then dawned on Mary. 'Demons…are _everywhere_ …'

. . .

 


	4. Elijah The Genius Child

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I am so freakin’ touched with all of these wonderful reviews. I AM SO SPEECHLESS AND FLATTERED! I seriously love you all. And in this chapter I am NOT bashing Christianity. I myself am a Christian, so please don’t take what I say offensive. This is purely fictional. 
> 
> Note: Most of you are probably wondering why Elijah saying Vincent’s name made him believe he was a genius. Reason is (I’m laughing right now at my stupidity for not explaining in the last chapter) Vincent was toying with Mary guys. Like he’d actually give her a real explanation, he wouldn’t be so kind to grant her, her ‘last wish’.
> 
> AKA VINCENT WAS LYING TO HER! But really, he did get Elijah tested. As we see in this chapter…Oh and from now on I will be referring to Harry as Elijah.

 

. . .

Vacation: Terminated

Chapter III: Elijah The Genius Child

_Two demons converse. - The mind of a child is a curious thing - especially one belonging to a thousand-year-old soul. – Death gives Lucifer a fruit basket._

. . .

" _Show me what's new_

_I know who's under_

_Do you take me for a fool, or just don't care?_

_I'm in a back road date where I don't belong_

_I got a morale, I don't want anything_

_You got me on my own, I wasn't listening_

_Just spare me this last time, please now, for my own sake_

_There's two ways to echo lake_

_There's two ways to echo lake_ "

Echo Lake, Pierce Fulton

. . .

"Have you heard the rumor about him lately?"

"Who?"

"You know, _him_."

_Snap_

"Ooh, _him_. Nah, I've been busy in the Inferno Division lately, barely have time ta piss let alone gossip."

"Nice. How's it going over there? I heard Hades had another hissy fit after a new recruit asked him about the Disney movie he was supposedly in - which we all know he was, that drama queen. It's just none of us have the gall to ask out right after witnessing him blow up a subdivision because _somebody_ forgot to put Soul Extract in his coffee one morning. A _subdivision_. Do you have any idea how many bloody souls we lost that day? Sheesh, not even Lucifer wanted to reprimand him in fear of causing another calamity." A blond mop of hair shook in dismay as hands continued to dig deeper into a withering chest.

"Oh ya' know, a whole 'lotta fire and a whole 'lotta screamin', nothin's changed really in the past decade. Ah, but if you see a redhead with a stack o' files wonderin' about, give the kid a cookie. He was able ta last five minutes with a rampagin' Hades runnin' afta 'im." The other said with an indistinguishable London accent.

The blond demon whistled appreciatively.

"Sheesh. Five minutes. Lasted longer than I did, maybe I will give him a cookie. But about _him_ …" The blond demon inclined forward with an air of mystery. "I heard he was here to see _Lucifer_."

"Oh," squeaked the bespectacled demon. Totally unbecoming of a Spawn of Darkness, Apprentice of Hades, Hells No.1 Pyromaniac, but also entirely understandable.

"Oh, indeed partner. Oh _indeed_." The blond nodded earnestly. "Five decades of radio silence and all of a sudden Death comes knocking at our Kings front door, sheesh. With a fruit basket no less."

"A fruit basket?" The demon asked. Pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose with a bloodied hand and a frown. "Why a fruit basket? Everyone knows we prefer cookies, despite not havin' any taste buds to speak of, the cookies just give us a li'l _zing_ of energy. I would call it a pleasant feelin', if we _could_ have any positive feelin's - with us bein' demons - "

"I know how cookies work. I _too_ am a demon. Sheesh. Now I wonder why _he's_ down here…Oh, that's another thing - " A muffled scream cut him off. "What I was about to say was - " Another scream, this time a lot louder.

"Ya' gonna do somethin' to shut 'im up?" The bespectacled demon asks lightly. His partner hissed, serpentine tongue lapping at his pale lips.

" _Ooh_ , and why can't you?" Asked the demon, a tad crabby. "I'm the one whose elbow deep in this pathetic human's chest. You're just over there repeatedly cutting off his toes, which might I add, is an ineffective torture method that only beginners use because really, _toes_? Sheesh. It must be heaven in hell," he snorted at the irony. 'Sheesh,' he thought. "Compared to what I'm doing to him. Why don't you just tickle him with a flippin' feather while at it? Sheesh. Lazy arse."

The blonde's partner gave him a flat look before making a show of cutting off a pinkie toe.

_Snap_

The human shrieked behind the gag, tears making a clean trail down his bloodied cheeks.

"I'm here on mah time off, _blondie_. This is what I get for helpin' out a pal." He waved the bloodied pruning shear in the air flippantly, waiting for the toes to regenerate so he could get back to his fun. "Besides, he's your victim an' won't removin' your arm give 'im a more _intense_ pain compared ta my measly torture methods? See, _this_ is why I work at the Inferno Division. Such criticism."

"That and you're a freakin' pyromaniac." The demon muttered under his breath, and with a huff the blond freed his right arm from the depths of his human charge's chest and wraps a drenched hand around the individual's neck. Successfully choking out any noise that could potentially interrupt him.

"What was I saying again?"

"Fruit basket."

"Ah, yes. Wait, no I wasn't."

"You weren't?" His bespectacled partner asked. Voice sounding vaguely disappointed for reasons unknown.

"No." The demon hummed, continuing to clench and rip out random vital organs out of the human strapped to the operating table below them. "Ah!" With great 'huzzah!' the blond clapped his hands together spraying specks of blood across his face and painting his partner's glasses. "Ah! Yes, that's it."

"Ya' dirtied mah glasses."

"What, you expect me to apologies? My dear, we're _demon_. We don't _do_ apologies." He said testily before coming back with great vigor. "Ah. Yes. I was about to ask you something."

"Oh, yes?" The now glasses-free demon asked, absently cleaning his glasses with a handy handkerchief that seemed to appear out of thin air. His red eyes stared at him expectantly.

"Why do we call Death _him_?"

His partner paused in thought. He sniffed speculatively.

"I think it was Hades doin'."

"Is that right?"

"Hmm." He hummed, donning his glasses. "It adds a more theatric sound ta conversations, does it not?"

The blond thought back, recalling their conversation and came to the horrified realization.

"Huh." The demon grunted. Perfectly summing up their feelings about being subtly manipulated by their superior quite well.

. . .

Elijah knew he was creeping out the nanny, but her reactions were far too amusing to simply stop. Toying with people has become somewhat a special talent of his resulting from the time spent with Death. Otherwise known as sadism. And Mary (the poor lamb) was the only source of entertainment to rescue him from this dull life as a baby. Also happens to be the only person near him every day so of course he'd take advantage of the situation. Sure, his tricks could be seen as cruel, but they were also his only basis of exercise to strengthen his magical core.

Shifting the furniture and small objects trained his control and awareness. Twisting the shadows trained his spiritual energy (that came from his bond with Death). And reading the minds of others trained his mental control.

It was an advanced form of Occlumency Elijah had learned over the years. Knowing what people around you thought was at first overwhelming. Hearing them judge, remember and think about him or others was more often than not overwhelming, especially when the connection with another sometimes transferred emotions. If he didn't have good enough control over his consciousness, his magic would leech out and grab hold of the closest person's mind and he would relive their entire life for five minutes or more. He could recount their birth, tenth birthday party and first kiss in vivid detail within those couple of minutes. It left him with a splitting migraine and a strong need to practice his control every morning.

This was the downside of reincarnation. Everything started anew.

It was in the word 'reincarnation': rebirth of a new soul. And sadly, that entailed everything aside from his memory.

Living for thousands of years and building new memories puts countless strain on the brain; as a result Harry has to block out past lives regularly. Shove them away in a dark room and lock the door. The memories remain forgotten up to a certain point. Sometimes a word might unlock the door, a certain smell turn on the lights, and a certain song playing a certain tune might open the window. In comes the breeze, cleaning the cobwebs gathered overtime and _boom_. The memories are activated in the worst possible way.

What happened in the Archives was more or less a… _violent_ reaction to shutting the memories out for an extensive period of time.

What he saw there were his first two lives.

The first two 'originals', he had taken to calling them.

Rewinding back to the matter at hand, Elijah has a sneaking suspicion his nanny is beginning to loose her marbles. Maybe he had gone a bit overboard yesterday in the garden when he spoke to a snake. But he couldn't help himself; it was his first time feeling grass under his feet without worrying about an earthquake or being kidnapped in a _long time_ (it's quite sad how the first thing he worries about when feeling the ground beneath his feet is ' _I wonder how I'm gonna die today?_ '). It put him in a good mood to say the least. So, when he blurrily – stupid baby eyesight - spotted a snake slithering past him in the bushes hissing about 'troublesome humans', Elijah almost cried for joy.

It was surprisingly easy to talk in Parseltongue than it was compared with English. Maybe it was because the English language consisted of more complicated words than hissing did.

Elijah tried to converse with the friendly snake quietly behind his nanny's back as to not get noticed and freak her out. He really did. But she caught him and Elijah felt his entire body go to gooseflesh. He was sure his expression held one a child did when their hand is caught in the cookie jar.

Her thoughts ranged from frantic worry about a snake being so close to a child, to biblical nonsense about demons and such, quite a leap in thought that was. It made him blink twice in perplexed amazement. Elijah sighed deeply, 'how bothersome'. It really threw a kink in his plans for a blissful holiday when his nanny was convinced he was a Demon spawn.

And a Demon spawn? _Really woman_?

He knew accepting the unacceptable in this day and age was a tad disagreeable, but you see a couple of things outside the limits of possibility and your mind immediately veers towards Demon Spawn?

 _Nonsense_.

From what he remembers of the 19th Century, the Church of England was making a comeback from the 18th Century. As a result, a _lot_ of new churches were being built to spread its religion. And sadly, Mary's family came from a long line of Sunday church go'ers (given from what Elijah saw in her memories). Thus, it meant she believed in the signs of God and omens about the Devil wholeheartedly. Prayed daily and lived by the Ten Commandments.

And he just spoke to a snake. _The very reptile that_ _symbolizes the Devil_.

'Ah _, shit._ '

Elijah didn't know whether to weep in frustration or laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. In all his lifetimes _this_ has never happened. Sure he's been burned at the stake from being accused as a witch more times than he cared to count. But still. _Demon Spawn_?

That's a new one.

At _4 weeks_ _old_ too... _Yeah_ , it disturbed him at how depressingly amusing he was finding this because from his experience, underestimating a Christian in the 19th Century was sure gonna get him killed (again). And he's only just started his holiday dammit!

Although considering her personality, Mary wasn't the type to suffocate newborns. No…more like convince herself she was seeing things.

Not one for taking chances, Elijah forced a suggestion of 'hearing things' in her mind and watched as it took effect. Mary blinked and shook her head, a light scoff escaping her lips for thinking such absurd things about a baby. Elijah resisted the urge to cackle in triumph.

4 weeks old and his Occlumency skills were already this powerful to adjust a person's thought.

He fist-bumped the air and whooped. At least he planned to. Didn't get past the fist-pump stage much when the life was suddenly knocked right out of him - making the sound of a deflating balloon on impact - as a pair of soft hands scooping him up in a tight embrace. Vaguely he heard Mary screaming about snakes being near a child. He says 'vaguely' because his attention was being directed at something desirably squishy pressing against his chubby cheek.

He was currently being squashed up against a nice pair of relatively big organic milk bags. Elijah sighed in content.

Yeah, this was the vacation he needed.

. . .

It didn't escape Elijah's notice that his father was suspicious about him and his quiet personality. He's aware of how children act as newborns. They cry, poop, cry some more, drool, etcetera… It couldn't be helped though. Elijah didn't _do_ baby talk. After a while donning the childlike facade was tiresome. Pretending to be a thoughtless baby was just plain humiliating when he could very well be Vincent and Rachel's great great _ancestor_. It was humiliating enough that he didn't have control of his bowels, crying and whining would only add salt to the wound. Besides, he isn't acting _too_ odd. At least Vincent is thinking about diseases and such. Much more rational thoughts than demon possession or him being the Devil incarnate. Troublesome nanny.

And this was his holiday dammit! He can very well do as he please!

Ahem, getting back on track. It was around the same week (he _thinks_. Keeping track of time as a baby is harder than it seems when the world is as cloudy as a steamed up mirror. Although it was getting better, he could see clearly enough about a meter in front of him. A miracle in itself, his sight was clearing up speedier than last time) as the snake incident when he took him for an outing.

 _Bah!_ Elijah snorted in laughter; he had peeked into Vincent's head this morning and knew where he was taking him.

To a Doctor.

About damned time, his father's distressed thoughts were beginning to give him a headache. Hopefully after this little outing his mind will stop feeling like sand paper.

"He's perfectly healthy, Lord Phantomhive." Sighed the Doctor as he examined the baby twice per the father's orders. "I'm not quite sure why you're worried here."

"My child is as silent as a ghost. Something _must_ be wrong with him to behave in such a way. When we talked yesterday you said something about him being a selective mute?"

"Might. _Might_ be a selective mute." The Doctor corrected. Taking the time to think. "Although he doesn't seem like he has an anxiety disorder that could've triggered it-Good God, he's only four weeks old. The only other thing I can think of is it must be his personality."

"His personality." Vincent deadpanned. "I didn't know _babies_ could have a developed sense of self, Gary."

The Doctor held back a twitch at hearing his name.

"Taking into consideration that this is _your_ child we're talking about, he could have inherited your smarts. An early bloomer maybe."

Vincent sighed, " _Maybe_. I need something definitive to ease my mind. Rachel is starting to get anxious; she can't afford to worry. Ever since Rachel gave birth her health has dwindled because of her asthma, if she starts to worry I'm not sure her body will hold well."

The Doctor sighed and nodded.

"I'll keep looking."

"That's all I ask, Gary."

This time he couldn't hide the flinch.

. . .

If there was one thing Elijah hated more than Death, it was parties. Everyone was just so darn cheerful and full of fake smiles and pleasantries it made Elijah feel ill. Thankfully, he was a baby, so he wasn't expected to participate in social class politics.

Ugh. _Politics_ , a runner up on the list of things he hates more than Death.

Just because he hates politics doesn't mean he isn't good at it. Sure enough, after a lifetime he's fairly familiar with the workings of politics; manipulation, hidden threats and ruining someone's life with a single word and a phone call. Elijah has been the bane of existence in the Government one too many times. Oh, it can be fun, but it can also be a pain in the ass when you start out with no connections or favors to be owed up. You'll be easy pickings for the bitter old men upstairs sitting on their thrones of lies and corruption.

Not that he's one to judge. _Definitely_ not, that would be downright hypocritical.

Many a time he's effectively overtaken the world because he dug his claws so deep into the government that he had everyone walking on eggshells for the rest of their miserable lives. He knitted himself into their spider web of lies and used everything they thought to be good or evil against them. He was everywhere. The Moriarty of their universe some said– which was quite an honor since he had met the man once upon a lifetime. Excellent conversationalist he was, if you ignored the subtle threats of decapitation upon your person that was. Back to the point at hand, if Elijah had the right amount of motivation and desire, he could have everyone on their knees kissing at his feet before Christmas. Let it be known, just because he's often at the mercy of Death, doesn't mean he shouldn't be equally as feared.

Politics? _Hah_. Politics is his bitch given the opportunity.

But alas, once again he has to state that he is currently on vacation, and getting himself involved with these high-and-mighty noble's politics would just be too darn bothersome. He'd rather waste his time reading a good book and lying in the sun than spending it by listening to the latest gossip about who did who or who did what. Sure it'd be grand blackmail material in the future, but _vacation_.

Pretty sure he's already heard and _lived_ world-class blackmail material. So, it'd essentially be nothing new, therefore a boring pastime.

Talking about boring pastimes: parties.

He hates parties.

_With a passion._

Although since he's a baby and isn't expected to mingle, he can just lie back and enjoy the sun. Which he was doing, and enjoying it thoroughly if one can ignore one's company that happens to be a fellow baby, a few toddlers and some children running around like maniacs if he was hearing correctly (a lot of shouting and stomping of clumsy feet).

The baby that was presently trying to gain his attention by poking at his side - _stop poking me brat it hurts!_ \- was named Edward. Before Elijah was placed in this children's pen (prison more like it) he was introduced to a man and lady.

" _Elijah, I'd like you to meet your aunt Francis and Uncle Alexis…"_

Ah, yes. _Family_. Elijah frowned.

"… _and their son, Edward. He's around the same age as you, so from now on you'll be seeing more of him. Try and get along."_

The thought of having to be in the company of a baby on a regular basis in the future didn't sit well with Elijah. He's never been fond of children. They're like tiny versions of drunken adults, sometimes funny, sometimes depressingly hyper and sometimes legitimately depressing. There's no in between unless the kid's got some issues. And even then they're double the trouble and triple the headache.

Feeling another poke in his side Elijah took one glance at his cousin and his thoughts slammed back to the sentiment of family. _Sentiment_. That little tug in his chest, so akin to hope, it almost knocked the wind right out of him. It's been so long, _far_ too long, since the last time he's had a family that he can trust.

For centuries Elijah hasn't trusted anyone without suspecting a hidden motive.

\- _backstabbingtorturepainheartbreakpainpainlosspainbrotherpainpainpain! -_

Paranoia is practically second nature, and it has served him well in the long run. Get too close and you'll get stabbed, get close enough and you'll see the blade before it hits.

He does neither.

He never gets close. He's learnt that much since shaking hands with Death and being repeatedly toyed with and emotionally tortured.

Betrayal isn't something to laugh about; it's something to hate so much that the mere thought of it is tastes like poison. Because, the miserable truth about betrayal is that it doesn't come from your enemies, it comes from the ones you hold dear. The ones you _trust_.

Trust. There it is again. That word. The thing that Elijah hasn't given to someone in a _very_ long time. The word is virtually alien to him that it takes the immortal a while to think it over.

A moment longer, Elijah turns back to Edward, staring at him and knowing deep down that he was making the right move.

'Edward,' he thinks 'don't make me regret trusting you.'

As the baby smiles back at him with a spit bubble, Elijah's stare begins to look pained. Somehow Edward notices the seriousness surrounding him as his unintelligent blabbering ceases. Staring back at Elijah curiously. 'Edward…' Elijah thought earnestly, 'I promise if I ever catch a hint of betrayal coming from you in the future, I will slice your throat open and bury your corpse in the backyard where my dog pisses.'

Edward gurgles. "Bwah?"

Oh yes, he did have a dog like Death promised – amazingly enough, Elijah's still having a hard time believing Death kept _another_ one of his promises. The little guy's name is Sebastian and he's the most well behaved pup he's ever seen (what he can see that is, which isn't very much).

A second later a shadow overfell him and he felt the presence of a man.

. . .

_A little while back..._

Travelling through a dimensional time gate, surfing the time vortex, trekking across purgatory, picking the lock on the Gate to Hell, and having an argument with the two demons stationed at said gate who had caught him in the act wasn't how Death wanted to start his Monday morning. Did he mention he was carrying a fruit basket?

"How'd you even end up here?" Asked a demon with a rather big red spear.

"Is that a fruit basket?" Asked a demon girl, baffled. "A fruit basket in _hell_? Well I never."

"Compensating for something are we?" Death asked, gesturing at the spear with his chin as his arms were currently carrying the abnormally large fruit basket. 'The lengths I go to.'

"What'd you say old man?" He hissed, taking a threatening step forward as his red eyes began to glow and spear spark to life. " _What'd. You. Just. Say?_ "

" _Ooh_ , a bit temperamental aren't you?" Says Death cheerfully and flashed out of the way as the demon came charging at him. He appeared besides the girl demon and cleared his throat. "Look, I'm not here to cause any trouble - no matter how much I _really really_ want to, but I need to see my cousin. You know him, red hair, black eyes, name rhymes with 'to suffer'... ring any bells?"

The male demon suddenly tripped over his footing and landed on the floor with his limbs at odd angles.

The girl was shaking as she stared at him in horror as though he were about to rip her head off her shoulders. Granted, their worries did hold weight since he had a rather nefarious reputation down here. He's amazed the stories from his time spent down in Hell with his cousin hadn't reached Harry's innocent ears yet.

What an expression that'd be.

"Y-You're…" The boy demon stuttered, getting go his knees and saluting. "Sir! I am so sorry I didn't recognize you."

Death absently wondered where all that rage went to, he was a demon for Go - Chris -…he was a demon! The standards have lowered so much over the years, it was sad to see.

"Yeah, yeah." Death said with a roll of his eyes. "Stop with the formalities, I'm only here to see my cute little cousin."

The two demons stared at him oddly. 'The Kind of Hell is a cute little cousin?' they both thought, morbidly fascinated and terrified at the same time at how Death considered cute and little about Lucifer.

"You're giving our King a fruit basket?" The girl demon whispered with a look of shock. Momentarily forgetting who he was. "How did that survive the trip from the Grim Reapers Dispatch?"

"I got it from Marks and Spencer. They got some sturdy crap."

After that little meeting, Death ended up at the front door of Lucifer's black castle that resembled something out of a black and white Dracula movie.

He knocked by kicking at the abnormally sturdy door.

"Oi! Luci open up! Your handsome older cousin is here to see you~" He sang. Getting no reply Death began to kick repeatedly. "Open up you bastard. I'm here to talk to you about my little muffin, he's having some eye issues I thought you could clear up!" Silence.

Death glared at the door as though it was nothing more than trash and began to put some of his more inhuman strength into the kick. The wood began to splinter.

"I didn't trek through purgatory just to get the cold shoulder from you! So open up you little shit and say hello to your older cousin!"

_Crack_

Death let out the sound of a trampled toad as his leg impaled itself through the door. "What type of fucking wood is this! Oi! Lucifer!" He yelled at the door, he yelled at Lucifer, and soon enough he was yelling at Hell.

"What the shit?" A startled voice shrieked from behind. Death angles his head just so, making sure he doesn't fall since he was currently balanced on one leg, the other stuck in a door, and carrying a large simmered fruit basket (Hell really needs to chill it with the pyromaniacs).

Standing behind him, in all his hellish glory, was Lucifer.

Despite what lore you've read or seen on TV, Lucifer is quite handsome. Chisled jawline, burning red hair that seems to defy all laws on gravity, and toned body from hours of running around hell keeping everything in order.

"Ooh, hey Lucifer. Didn't realize you had stepped out." Death says casually, as if he wasn't standing there with his foot in the door cursing at an empty castle.

Lucifer raises an eyebrow at him, takes a step forward and freezes. They stared at one another.

"You broke my door." He says, studious expression melting into genuine bafflement.

"Yes, I did." Sighed Death, shoulders drooping in defeat. It's been a long day.

"You _broke_ my door."

"Yeah."

"You _broke_ my _door._ "

Death shrugs and shoved an armful of fruit at him. Lucifer promptly ignores it in favor of glaring.

"You broke my door."

He gives him a withering look. "Oh, I hadn't noticed with my _foot stuck in it you redheaded bigot help your cousin out!_ " Lucifer turned away for a second, as if fighting an internal war before helping Death.

Somewhere along the way the two ended up in the living room.

"Whose this muffins you speak of?" Asked Death, taking a grape and plopping it in his mouth.

"Ah, you heard." Muttered Death, glaring at the amused expression he got. "You've heard of my Master, have you?"

There was a hum of interest.

"Yes, your pet human who you enjoy torturing."

There was somber silence coming from Death. The God nodded, squinting off in the distance with a sad look.

"His eyes flashed red a while back."

Lucifer stared in silence, expression hard.

"Tell me everything."

. . .

With a soft sigh, Elijah rolled his back against his father's chest, internally muttering curses under his breath about old men and their too-aware eyes and religion in general.

Always an inescapable curse, religion. It's something everyone always turns to when he makes the impossible possible. It either has people thinking he's some kind of benevolent God, or supernatural entity that needs abolishing.

Pfft _. Humans_.

Elijah shakes his head in genuine disbelief and hilarity that in just two weeks he has a church coming after him ready to exorcise his little ass to the depths of hell. A tiny voice in the back of his head (probably his conscience, probably not - taking into account of his functional insanity) whispered about Death being behind this nonsense.

For once, Elijah was hesitant to agree with it. Was this Death, or was this his cursed bad luck?

Either one would do really, he's not picky, he just wants this problem to go away and get on with relaxing.

The soft movement of Vincent shifting him against his chest nocked Elijah out of his bitter thoughts. Looking up, his green eyes clashed with brown, feeling generous he gurgled up at his father cutely with a bright smile. A soft grin was given in return before he continued to read the morning telegraph out loud, finger pointing at words as he spelled them out slowly for him (his father really didn't need to do that, but it would make the church look good if he just randomly knew the English language).

A week ago a child psychologist and university professor gave him a dumbed down IQ test. Reaction checking, recognition analysis and other stuff he breezed through. Sure enough they declared him a genius, prodigy, _whatever_. Elijah almost cried in joy at meeting logical thinking humans who see him as a talented child instead of Demon Spawn (other that his parents).

Okay, reasonably he's anything _but_ a genius; nonetheless he _is_ above average intelligence. Living as long as he has would do that to a person. Understandably. Sure the side effect of being known as a genius will make people have high expectation of him, and he'll dance to their tune for now - there's no doubt in his mind he can surpass those expectations, but let it be known that when he hits the teenage years he'll be damned if he doesn't milk 'teenage rebellion' for all it's worth.

Glancing back to the newspaper in front of him, Elijah mouthed the words with his father. A little disappointed he was reading about uninteresting news rather than an exciting novel (Elijah couldn't wait for the Sherlock Holmes series to be printed, after meeting the characters in the flesh and experiencing some of the infamous cases of Sir. Arthur Conan Doyle first-hand, Elijah always carried a copy of them around with him). It's become a ritual every morning since Elijah was tested, but today it lacked that little something. _Happiness_. Sure, he didn't let it show that he noticed, he may be a 'little prodigy' but no baby of two months can be _that_ observant.

Ever since yesterday's little fiasco with his grandfather branding him as the Spawn of Darkness, his mother hasn't exactly been the same. After peeking into her mind he found the reason why.

She felt betrayed, disappointed, hurt and angry - with not only her father but Vincent too.

Why would she – _ohh_? He opened the memory of Vincent explaining about the testing and IQ score and winced in sympathy as he was slapped. Sheesh, and here he was thinking Rachel was a softhearted woman who could do no harm.

So no. For today and maybe the rest of the week, the tension in the air won't dissipate. He isn't worried about their marriage; Elijah's seen their memories and their thoughts on one another. It's hard to find true love wherever Death sends him, so it stuns Elijah when he finds it in his parents.

"Rewa…rewardf _ded_ or awive?"

Reward Dead or Alive?

Elijah blinked. What was he reading just now?

"Ah." Vincent chuckled nervously and turned a page, patting his head guiltily. "Lets not read that article, son. Maybe when you're older, but for now lets stick with the sports section."

Elijah sighs. 'How dull.'

It's an hour later when Elijah is transferred over to his mother. So far it's been almost 20 hours since grandpa left the house, and he's always with someone. Those someone's are Vincent, Rachel and Tanaka.

In all honesty, Elijah is almost grateful that his life was threatened (that's the insanity talking) because now he can spend all day with his parents instead of that nutter in an apron - _Mary_.

Talking about Mary.

Talk about an escalation from sound to insanity. It seems his little mind games with Mary has taken more of a toll on her than he cared to realize. Elijah knew it was risky playing his little games, always knew, but being a baby and having the inability to run around and read books from the library makes life so exceptionally dull.

Ah he's getting melancholy. In short:

Mary's gone and done it. Gone round the bend. She's pinned the church on him and dragged poor old grandpa into her bandwagon of crazies.

Really, the life he leads is one big cosmic joke. Oh Death is just going to love this.

. . .

Death was sitting at a café in Paris, somewhere in the 1940s, nursing a hot cup of coco. It was that year again.

World War II

So much death and destruction to witness and it's all because of one man's desire to be top dog or having the delusion of 'saving the world' 'this is all for a brighter future' 'I know what's best because I have money and had an education'. It makes him laugh. Old men sending young men to war, only for them to come home in body bags. Wars are more fun and interesting than just plain old death.

Death looks to the sky and sighs in content. Tomorrow Germany will invade Paris of earth #378. A bit more violent that the original version as before it was a much more peaceful overtake. Here though, Death flips through the file sitting on the table in front of him, a massacre will break out. Killing everyone at the vicinity he was currently drinking hot chocolate in.

Ah wars, where would he be without them. Funny, how wars are almost the same in every universe. No matter where he went there was always a world war. 'Huh. That's humans for ya.' He thought in slight amusement and resentment.

So much paperwork to sort through because of these damned wars, well worth it though. Watching inferior beings play God is a marvelous pastime of his when Harry's away.

 _Harry_ …Death shakes his head.

Humans. Always working thing out with their fists rather than words. Although…sometimes, most of the time actually now that he thinks about it, words hurt more than bullets.

A tugging feeling in his chest breaks Death out of his thoughts. 'Odd.' He thinks, patting his chest gently. 'Digestion maybe?' Another tug, rather jerky, causes him burp.

People around him stare.

Death raises an eyebrow, as though they were the ones being rude. It has the desired effect as the surrounding customers shuffle awkwardly back to their conversations. Humans. So easily intimidated. Death pouts. He misses Harry. At least he has a backbone.

Ooh, wonder how he's doing.

His chest lurches again and this time Death can't fight down a snarl. He knew he shouldn't have had that cookie Lucifer offered him. Demons have no sense of taste, therefore, are ruddy awful cooks.

'Couldn't tell the damned difference between salt and sugar if it kicked him in the ass.' He thought bitterly as he sipped the rest of his hot coco. Signaling the waiter, money magically appears in his hand and was about to hand it to the young man as his chest violently pounds. It felt like the sword of Michael just stabbed him.

He gripped the side of the table to keep himself balanced as the wind was momentarily nocked right out of him. 'What…what's going on?'

 _Thud_.

"Son of a - !"

Within the blink of an eye the world shifted and Death found himself stumbling on his feat in a library. Wait, he knew this place…

"Harry?" He called out into the mindscape, voice echoing amongst the sea of books containing written memories.

"It's Elijah now. What took you so long?"

Death rotated, eyes peering down at an older-looking Elijah who lay comfortably on a green velvet couch, book in hand.

"Oi." He starts flatly. Face showing no hint of amusement, only deep loathing. "That was you? You're the culprit? I thought it was…" His voice breaks off easily.

"Yes, that was me." Says Elijah, looking up at him with no little amount of suspicion. "You thought it was what?" He stops himself with a shake of a head. "Nope. Never mind, don't wanna know. Look, I brought you here because I need a…favor."

Death's eyes shine wildly and within a flash he was sitting in front of Elijah on the coffee table. He looks so smug that Elijah wishes that he had never asked and figured a way out to do it himself just so he doesn't have to look at that expression. But he only recently found out the date of the churches' little riot to kidnap him.

It was happening tonight.

8 hours from now and Elijah had neither the resources or ability to take care of it.

"Oho?" Death coos. "Two favors in one year." His expression falls even as he stares in genuine curiosity. "You don't have any pride do you?"

'Kiss my ass,' he thinks. "Kiss my ass." He says.

Death frowns, this time serious.

"No really, two favors? Extremely out of behavior for you. Also, inviting - no, _forcing_ me into your mind - _really_ wanna know how you did that by the way, when I specifically remember this being your sanctuary from anything involving me. I haven't been here since I sent you to ancient Rome to battle Hercules."

"Don't remind me." Says Elijah. Not liking to remember that nasty event. "I brought you here through our bond. Since our spirit is linked I came up with an idea. Think of our bond like a door, it can be opened from either end so I just accessed your spiritual energy and pulled."

Death blinked at the overly simple explanation. "Huh."

"Yes." Elijah nods. "Anyway, did it hurt?"

"Not really." Sniffed Death.

"Uh- _huh_." Nodded Elijah. Smiling despite himself. "So the favor. I need you to kill a church - "

"No!"

Harry gives him an odd look.

"Exc _use_ me?"

"I won't kill a church - _kill a church?_ What the _fuck_ did you do, Harry?" (I told you it's Elijah) "I left you alone for like, what - a _couple_ of _months_ and you have a church wanting to _kill you?_ A baby? What - what…" His forehead creased as he began to deeply regret his life choices that might have led him to this point in time. "You lunatic."

"Hey!" Elijah cried indignantly, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I know how this sounds –"

"Do you?" Whispers Death, face a mixture of horror and disbelief. "Do you _really_?"

Elijah looks a little taken aback.

" _You_ , of all people, are against killing a church?"

"You, of all people, _want_ to kill a church?" Death fires back with a flail of his limbs. There was silence.

Oh how low they have fallen.

Death sighs deeply, rubbing a hand down his face.

"I honestly have nothing against killing Christians, all for it actually."

"Then why!" Cries Elijah with frustration, throwing his book at Death who catches it with ease of a man who's done it a thousand times. "When I brought you in here I expected complications but this is just ridiculous. You're _Death_. This is your job. Your division!"

The God shifts uncomfortably and looks away with a scowl.

"You see…God doesn't really like me messing with his followers."

Elijah bristles. "Screw God. They want to _kill me_."

"Wouldn't be the first time you've died."

"That's besides the point! I'm on my vacation dammit and I won't let a bunch of devout followers ruin that for me. If they die they get to go to heaven so really it's a win-win situation."

"How _did_ this situation come about anyway? Hmm?" Death is staring at him.

He is still staring when Elijah explains what's been going on in the past couple of months.

"You…" There is an unusual pained expression on his face. The God is at a loss for words. "You… _lunatic_."

"Thanks." Elijah deadpans.

"Not a compliment."

"Oh, I know."

"Why on earth did you think it would be a good idea to mess with a Christian in the 19th Century? 'Oh, I'll just move this toy with my mind! Hope you don't read anything into it religious girl!'" He says sarcastically.

"I'm sorry, do you want to be turned into a baby when you're a thousand years old?" Hisses Elijah.

"But in front of a Christian who eats the bible for breakfast?"

"I was bored!"

"Honestly." Sighs Death, resting his head on his hand and staring at Elijah's fuming body.

Really, he wasn't mad. He just likes riling Elijah up. Internally he was laughing at the ridiculous of the situation. This was far more entertaining than waiting for a war to come about.

Marvelous way to kill time.

"So troublesome." Elijah hisses at him again like a wet cat. 'But so entertaining.' "Will poisoning suffice?"

Elijah is momentarily taken aback, face slack in shock.

"Wait, what?"

"I don't see why you're so shocked," Said Death. "You want me to kill them. So I'll kill them, you are my master."

Again, Elijah is taken aback.

"But you never listen to me. You haven't since the first day you deceived me."

Death smiled like a snake.

"I pick my moments. This is one of them."

Elijah found himself shocked, and deeply disturbed.

"You sociopath."

. . .


	5. Requiem for a Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have seen a lot of you are excited for the appearance of Sebastian and Ciel. Believe me when I say; so am I! I have to physically and mentally restrain myself from jumping aboard that ship because gosh darn it I first have to finish recounting the tales of Elijah's past and build meaningful relationships. I don't want this story to come out like 'oh yeah, Edward and Elijah are besties, no need to show you how it happened or why. Not like it matters.' BECAUSE IT DOES MATTER!
> 
> All in all, Sebastian and Ciel will appear soon. *Loki laugh* Hehehe.
> 
> Sorry this chapter is so short but it's needed – good old feels. This was a hard chapter to write, so please be kind with your thoughts (:

 

. . .

Vacation: Terminated

Chapter IV

_Funeral of one Mr Dallas. - Illusions haunt Harry. - Death begins to set the clockworks of fate._

. . .

" _Colder you are making me fall_

_I am breaking_

_Love hurts when it's all you need_

_And you're breaking me_

_I walk into the wind_

_The sea's waves against my skin_

_Empty hand and tired eyes_

_Leave me here I'll be fine"_

Shells, Laurel

. . .

"Mary Lishman, second youngest daughter to Eugene and Karen Lishman. Father a prodigy in the medical arts, mother deceased during childbirth. Cause of death: murder by overdose on prescription medicine. Date of death: September 25th, 1870. No further notes of particular interest. Judgment completed." The Grim Reaper pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, glass glinting in the low light of the hospital room. Stamping the file in his hand 'Completed', the reaper drew in his pruning scythe with a twitch of his thumb. "I wonder…" He muttered. Staring at the limp body beneath him coolly, unaffected as human nurses came rushing in and checking her pulse. Frantically trying to resuscitate her.

"Just what is that boy?" A faint memory of Mary's flashed in his mind. Knowing green eyes and budding messy black hair. "Certainly not a demon, I couldn't sense any dark spiritual pressure coming from the child in her memories. Nothing about him gave me a sense of disgust. That leaves Shinigami. No…dispatch would have notified me if one of us were re-embodied into a human child." The reaper made his way through the hospital, fazing through a man, making the human shiver in alarm.

"Everything alright there Thomas?" Asked a friend, both were here visiting their boss who came down with the flu.

"Cor," Thomas breathed, "felt like a ghost just passed through me." His friend looked ill at the thought.

"Don't tell me that!"

"A new species perhaps?" The reaper sniffed, ignoring the humans. " _Nonsense_ , human affairs would have posted a warning sign in the dispatch mess hall this morning if it were such. It's a pity," sighing as he reached the exit to the hospital and leapt to the rooftops. "I can't look into this. Seems interesting." Quickly the reaper shook out those errant thoughts. "My job is to judge and collect souls, _not_ investigate a child that seems has a fascinating set of paranormal skills." As he said those words his intellectual curiosity sparked a hidden flame inside of him. "Judge and collect souls. Nothing more nothing less. Nothing _more_ nothing _less_. _Nothing more nothing less_ …" The reaper continuously muttered as he rushed to collect a customary pair of souls. This time two overs that were caught in an affair and murdered.

Murder seems to be a set theme tonight.

"Ho ho~" A mischievous voice sang to his right, joining him in his dash across the city. "What's this? My studious senpai muttering to himself? Somebody pinch me I must be dreaming."

"Procrastinating is unbecoming of a Shinigami."

"Oh on the contrary senpai," started the blond reaper, rubbing his short wavy blond hair. "as I've never been one to do overtime." The bespectacled reaper twitched in irritation. "I finished early, saw you zooming across the rooftops muttering to yourself and came over out of concern."

He didn't believe that for a second.

"Gossip is also unbecoming of a Shinigami," the bespectacled reaper droned, adjusting his glasses with his the blade of his prune, "mixing pastimes with work can result in potential mistakes. You should be more careful with how you go about your work, _Ronald Knox_."

The blond smirked and gave him a two-finger salute.

"I'll take your advise into consideration, _Spears-senpai_."

"Do refrain from calling me that, save it for Sutcliff."

. . .

Elijah sneered at his father, tugging valiantly at the collar hugging his neck. Oh how he despised wearing a suit whilst in this small chubby form. Everything was so darn snug Elijah could barely breath properly without popping a button.

Vincent gently slapped his chubby little hands away, giving him a solemn look saying, 'I feel your pain'. He scoffed. Highly unlikely, as his father is a thing young man and can freely move in his suit whereas he's wrapped up like a damned burrito. Elijah turned his glare up a notch, holding in the urge to transfer some unsightly animal porn into his father's brain. It earned him an amused and slightly confused glance as the man tied Elijah's miniature tie with ease. When done, Vincent started to comb what little hair Elijah had.

"Remember to behave, son." He said, placing the comb down on his bedside table. Elijah gave him an incredulous look. Vincent smiled and booped his nose. For a long moment Elijah just stared at him. Baffled. "Right of course, silly of me to think you would behave anything but. My little genius." An indignant huff answered him, causing the man to bark out a laugh. It trailed off seconds later and he felt the air in the room chill.

"Today isn't a day for laughing." His father said, patting down imaginary dust off of Elijah. "No matter how much I despised the old man after what he said and did, he was Rachel's father and we'll help her get through the loss. As a gentleman should." Vincent ground out. For a few moments he was silent, posture stiff as he gazed earnestly at Elijah. Startling the child momentarily. "…This doesn't mean _I_ will grieve. He threatened you, my son, and for that I pray his soul will burn in hell for eternity." Huh.

What a nice man.

Elijah gurgled happily up at Vincent, earning a soft look in return. "Ah, you probably don't understand me. For the better I suppose, don't want your innocence to be taken away so early by my insensitive words." Elijah laughed, 'oh buddy, I'm far from innocent'. Vincent went from stern to loving father in a heartbeat at the giggle. "I thought I told you we can't laugh today."

He was rewarded with more laughter, this time out of spite.

Cracking a smirk, the man leaned down and lifted his son up into his arms, hugging the small body to his chest. Elijah curled against his father, heart light at feeling protective arms around him.

"You don't laugh often, so I'll forgive you this time."

Elijah pouted with a dismissive scoff. He wasn't that bad.

...Okay, admittedly he could smile more often and be act a bit more like he loved his family (which he does! He's just…forgotten how to show affection) rather than be a stone wall most of the time.

Feeling a familiar presence come down the hall, Elijah peeked out from where he was curled against his father's chest and watched his mother enter the room. She was in the standard black attire for a funeral, and understandably in a bad mood. Her eyes were red and glassy, most likely from recently crying, and her hands shook.

"Oh." She breathed out, staring at her son. "He looks so smart."

"I think I did a rather splendid job." Vincent said, looking at his wife in concern. "We can leave any time you feel like, my dear. People will understand." Rachel shook her head, coming closer to Vincent and running a soft hand over Elijah's cheek. He leaned into the touch, appreciating the affection.

"No, it would be unfair for my sister to deal with everything alone."

Vincent hid a scowl and Elijah stared at him, listening in on his thoughts with the matter. He hid a smirk; apparently his father didn't share her views. Rather viciously.

"My dear," Vincent sighed, "she's more than capable."

"She's family," Rachel countered in a heartbeat.

He paused, clenching his jaw in suppressed rage. Nodding in consent. Rachel smiled softly at him, pecking his cheek in gratitude.

"Thank you."

"If I see you cough once we're going home." Vincent muttered like a whiny child, it made Elijah shake his head in disappoint at how whipped his father was.

. . .

The funeral of one Mr. Dalles was very large. It seems he knew a lot of people, understandably considering he had lived a long wealthy life. It took up the whole church, most of the people had to squish together so they could attend.

Elijah slept through most of the speeches, not particularly caring for a man who planned to harm him. It felt nice to know his father shared his feelings, having not said anything during the funeral unless spoken to. If he did, he had put up the facade of a mourning son-in-law.

When the casket was being laid down in the earth and people start to pile out, Elijah felt the familiar warm aura of his cousin Edward. Blearily opening his eyes, he saw his aunt Francis standing next to his father. Edward wrapped up in her arms. The baby tilted his head at him cutely, having apparently not recognized him. Elijah almost scowled but forced himself to relax. Of course the kid didn't recognize him, he probably still sees in all blurs. It sometimes escaped him that not every baby had the same healing factor that he does.

Ah, he'll wait until Edward can talk in syllables to start a friendship. No point in being friendly with a mindless baby if the outcome isn't favorable.

"Nobody here knows how he died." Elijah heard Aunt Francis say in a whisper so nobody heard.

"I made sure of it." His father replied evenly, eyes never wavering off of the lowering casket. He gave a resigned sigh. "Rachel wouldn't have been able to mourn in peace if word got out her father died trying to murder our son. Her family name would have been tarnished," 'and my contacts in the underworld would take advantage of me in my vulnerable state. They wouldn't think twice about double-crossing me if they found out I've been preoccupied with my child instead of tracking their every move.' Elijah raised an impressed eyebrow. Smart man.

Francis raised a curious eyebrow. "You won't ask about how I know?"

Vincent smiled, no humor in it.

"You always know." 'I envy your power of reasoning,' he thought rather fondly. "You were also there that day he cracked. Not entirely hard to put the pieces together if one is educated enough."

"Careful." Francis said wryly. "Don't let poor Rachel hear you talk that way about her father, or the illusion of you as her white knight will vanish. She still thinks you can do no wrong."

Vincent's gaze swept over to his wife where she was crying next to a broken looking Angelina. The very thought of his wife finding out about his dark deeds in the underworld tied together with mysterious deaths he was involved in…Vincent fount it hard to maintain a steady breath.

A quiet, "I know" was heard. The two stood in silence, feeling the breeze pick up and storm clouds cover the sky.

As more people left, the sound of two shattered women crying became louder. Soon it was just the immediate family and gravediggers waiting in the back.

"You still hate him." Francis said in the wind, eyes holding disappointment. "He's dead Vincent, let his soul rest in peace."

"He deserves no peace." He hissed. "What he did was unforgivable."

"Even the powerful and wise become foolish when they fear something unknown. Genius children are an unknown to old-fashioned men like himself. Yes, what he did was undoubtedly _horrible_ , but he's dead. And right now, your hate is being directed at an empty corpse. Save that energy for the Queen, my dear brother."

"…I dislike it when you're right, Francis."

"That's what big sister's are for, little brother. To correct you."

Vincent was about to say something else when Edward cooed. The siblings watched in amusement as the little babe began to reach towards his son who stared back in utter revulsion. Francis swallowed a laugh while Vincent felt a weight being lifted from his shoulders.

As the diggers began to pile dirt on the coffin, Vincent left all his animosity towards the man with it.

. . .

"Gah _!" Harry scowled at his reflection, hands fumbling with his tie as he tried to do it up. "Come on you stupid chunk of -"_

" _Need assistance with that?"_

_Harry flinched at the presumptuous voice. Oh he knew that kind of smug tone anywhere. Twisting around, he saw Tom standing in the doorway of his dormitory. Eyebrow rose and arms crossed across his chest._

" _If you keep sneaking into Hufflepuff your Head Boy status is going to be tarnished." Harry noted dryly._

_"It'll only be tarnished if they catch me, which they haven't and never will." Tom shut the idea down bluntly with no little amount of smugness. "I'm far too brilliant for a fifth year prefect to discover me."_

' _Smug bastard', Harry thought with an eye roll._

" _You didn't answer my question. Do you need help with that?" Asked Tom with a smirk, gesturing to his tangled mess of a tie._

" _No." Harry scoffed, turning his back to Tom and tried in vain to do up his tie. Muttering under his breath about how he was a man and as a man he can tie his own god damned tie._

" _Are you sure?" The teasing tone of Tom was not appreciated. "Because you seem to be struggling."_

" _Don't you have Head Boy duties to attend to instead of mocking me? Prat." He mumbled, eye twitching at seeing he had created a knot. "Merlin's balls I hate ties."_

_No matter how many times he's tied ties, he never seems to be able to get it on the first go. Or the second…or the third._

_It's a talent really._

" _Honestly." Tom sighed from the doorway, making his mind up and walking over with the shake of his head. "I've showed you this a million times." The teenager twisted a reluctant Harry to face him by the shoulders and began to undo the knot. Harry deflated and watched Tom's long fingers magically work._

" _Yeah, well, you're a crappy teacher," Harry insisted with a petulant scowl. Tom glanced at him with a raised eyebrow._

" _You're a child." He deadpanned. "An overgrown child that's unable to tie a simple knot. Disgraceful."_

" _You have an ego greater than the expanding charm."_

" _Your hair is a constant bird's nest."_

"Ooh _? Like I haven't heard that one before. So unoriginal Riddle."_

" _Hmm? Using my last name because I insulted you? Congratulations Harry, you just proved me right on how absolutely childish you are."_

" _Just tie the god damned tie!" Harry yelled, kicking a smirking Tom in the shin. The teen hissed in pain, leaping back in astonishment. "Sorry." He really wasn't._

_Harry couldn't help the snicker escape him at the incredulous glare being sent at him._

" _If you can't control your emotions then I won't help you."_

" _Hah?!" Harry wailed._

_Tom scoffed._

" _See you at breakfast. If you get there on time that is, which I doubt." Tom said dispassionately, walking towards the door and waving his hand in the air. "Goodbye Harry."_

 _Harry deflated, "Fine._ Fine _! I give. You manipulative bastard."_

_In a heartbeat the boy twirled on his heel and began doing his tie. Tugging at the threads and causing him to stagger forwards, bracing a hand against Tom's chest for support. Harry bit back the nervous flutter in his stomach as Tom's dark eyes connect with his. He mutters a quick apology and puts little distance between them. Something flashes in Tom's eyes, too quick for Harry to decipher or understand._

_Quickly, entirely too quickly to follow, Tom does his tie up. Pulling it up tight around his neck and straightening it down his chest. Harry's heart is very, very close to giving out as the teen's hand continues to run down his chest. He's fine, he thinks. He's fine._

Breathe.

 _His heart skips a beat as Tom tugs his tie towards him again, snuffing out the distance he had put between them. His breath catches his throat as green eyes connect with chocolate brown. He's sees something in them as he stops breathing._ Satisfaction _?_

_Could he…?_

Friends _. They're_ friends _. Harry reminds himself numbly, tearing his eyes away from the other._

" _There." Tom says; patting him down and Harry only just manages to make sure his knees don't give out. "Come on, if we wait any longer we might not be able to get breakfast." The teen walks out, looking far too smug for Harry's liking._

_Watching him go Harry hangs his head in shame._

He wants Tom.

_What just happened? Is he having a nervous breakdown? Psychotic episode? Drugs?_

_Morgana's tits he hopes so, because he doesn't think he can handle being attracted to Tom bloomin' Riddle, who once upon a time would have been known as Voldemort._

_And what a stupid name that was._

_H hunched, feeling a threat of anxiety wash over him._

_What a marvelous start to sixth year this is._

. . .

Elijah felt his throat constrict at the memory. Ever since he had unlocked that past life he's been getting dreams of Tom. Most of the time they were pleasant dreams of him and Tom graduating Hogwarts, buying a house and little domestic things Elijah hadn't realized he missed.

But then there were the other dreams.

Horrific nightmares of Lucius cutting down his loved one in Diagon Alley.

[ _Watching Tom's body being slashed open filled Harry with horror. There was a soft thump of the Dark Lord's body hitting the ground, but Harry pain no mind, eye's fixed on Tom's confused and glazed over look._

 _"_ Tom! _"]_

_Ba-dump._

_Ba-dump_.

Calm. Down. It's over. It's just a memory.

[ _Tom's breath catches and Harry feels his body go slack against him._

_He's gone.]_

'It's just a memory.' Elijah reminds himself, saliva suddenly tasting like poison.

Elijah rolled in his cot, trying to get comfortable and calm his hammering heart.

He needs to relax.

_He needs his sanctuary._

Releasing a long, tired breath, Elijah focuses on the stirring warmth just behind his eyelids and _pulls_. There's a shift in the air and he hears the soft crackling of a fire. Opening his eyes, Elijah looks around his mindscape with a frown. It seems the dream did more damage than he thought. A few books containing old and new memories were scattered on the floor. With the flick of his wrist they flew back to their assigned shelves. Walking deeper into his library, Elijah froze at seeing the door to his one of his original lives cracked open.

_Not possible._

Panic spread through him in icy waves as Elijah rushed forward, slamming the door open only to collapse to his knees a second later. Standing there in the dimly lit room filled with books was Tom Riddle. His body covered in fresh blood, and eyes lifeless. Just as he was on the day he took his last breath.

"… _Tom_?" Elijah finally managed to croak out. For a moment he can't even breathe. "This isn't…this isn't _real_ …" Ignoring the stinging feeling in his eyes. "You're dead!" He hisses. " _You're dead_."

"Yes." Tom answered instantly. Elijah jolts.

He's dead. He's dead. _Deaddeaddead!_

"Wh-what are you?"

"A figment of your imagination."

"Oh, _funny_. I've gone insane."

"From the state of your mind - which I can see and feel - you have been for quite some time." The figment stated. Chills went down Elijah's spine at seeing his past lover speak to him. Standing above him. _Being with him_.

It _hurts_.

"My appearance unnerves you."

"I…" Elijah meets those dead eyes and feels an enormous amount of sorrow hit him. "Please stop. You look…" He pleads in a whisper. In an instant Tom's appearance changes to Slytherin robes, hair neatly combed back and eyes – _alive eyes._

Elijah's gaze blurs. He breathes out and bravely reaches towards Tom – _notrealnotrealnotreal_ \- who meets him half way. When the skin under his hand feels warm, his heart flutter painfully. Fingers lacing against one another it takes Elijah a moment to comprehend that he was touching _Tom_ again.

"I - you're not _real_." He whispers, suddenly insecure. "You're only in my head." 'Figuratively and literally.' He thought darkly.

"I do not understand." Says Tom. "You wished to see me again. Why are you not happy?"

"Because you're not real!" He cries - voice strained - leaning back and falling on the floor. Letting go of Tom's hand he stares at the ground wiping away the tears gathered in his eyes. 'I will not cry.'

Sensing movement, Elijah narrows his eyes as Tom kneels in front of him, expression void. His body runs cold.

. . .

_For a long moment, the only sound in the street is Harry's panicked breathing. He's shaking, trembling in shock and agony._

_Blood._

Red, hot, blood _._

 _It was everywhere, coating his hands, nails, arms and…Tom._ This was Tom's blood _. Harry takes a short quivering breath, unable to stop a sob from wracking his body. Distantly he's aware of people around him coming out of hiding. But he can't pay attention to that because Tom's dead._

_He's dead._

Gone _._

 _He presses his palm over his mouth to try and contain the cry of agony as grief finally strikes. It tears at his skin, clawing at his heart and_ doesn't stop _. His hands grip the limp body against him tighter. Horror twisting at his soul._

" _Nonono_ \- don't leave me _." He whispers into the brown curls against his cheek. Flashes of Tom's smile and smug tone stabs him. Harry bows his head, blood pumping in his ears. "Don't leave me!" He shouts, voice strained and laced with grief. "You bastard!"_

. . .

Elijah stares at him in anger and disgust. This was not Tom.

Not _his_ Tom. There's no superior mannerisms, no knowing smile and no _warmth_. Tom used to stare at him like he was his everything. This thing stares at him as though he were nothing.

_He hates it._

This illusion of a memory, _he hates it_.

Rage takes him by surprise.

" _Piss off_." Just like that the illusion fades and he's alone again.

[ _He's always alone, alone thinking, alone feeling –_ abandoned.]

The emptiness is absolutely unnerving. He's been alone for thousands of years, and one illusion of Tom isn't going to break him. But as he sits there, it feels like gravity's shifted.

His throat constricts, mouth opening in horror.

The abrupt loss of Tom hurt more than a physical wound.

And it hurt _so_ _damn much_.

"…Tom?" The word tastes like ash and tears began to flow from his wide-open eyes. Memories of Tom's laughter echoes in his ears, heart thuds painfully. "Tom!" Years of repressed emotions, longing, desperation, and fear, all of it came out in that too dark little room. "Tom!" Elijah shakes, hating the tears and loneliness he feels. A sob tears itself out of his throat. "Don't leave me!" He shouts into the room over and over again. Voice cracking and breaking with every shout. He cries until his face and chest hurt. Until his eyes are raw and throat clogged.

 _How_ _did this happen?_

. . .

Death hums in pleasure as he feels Elijah emotionally break down over the bond they share.

"About damned time." He mutters. Enjoying the pain he was causing his little master.

It was easy planting that simple illusion in Elijah's mind; he did let him in after all. Never one to miss an opportunity to break his master, and this was just so tempting. Death never forgot Elijah's first true love. That Ginny girl never really fit the bill, but Tom…

Man, was that a can of worms to open.

The way the man died was - Death hated to admit it - heroic. He gave his life away to save an entire civilization, never once regretting it. Death almost felt bad for being the one to cause his death (the cutting hex Lucius sent Tom wasn't supposed to hit him full on, only graze the man. But Death was particularly bored that day and a bored Death is a dangerous Death. So, giving the hex a little nudge…) To end such a pure soul was almost blasphemous. For a second he thought God was going to come out of hiding and smite his ass. But it never happened, so Death shrugged off the nagging feeling of guilt and went on with his life (now isn't _that_ ironic?). Waiting for his master to return and entertain him.

Tom's death affected Harry…more than he had anticipated. His stupid little master locked the memory away as soon as he got the chance. Never once being able to grieve his loss.

Okay, a little overkill. But _okay_. Death never really gave Elijah's choice a second thought, never thought Tom's death could interfere with his future mind games.

Which, it did, _obviously_ \- or he wouldn't have done what he did.

This mind game in particular he has planned out relies solely on the feeling of loosing _everything_ and gaining _nothing_. When Death came up with it he gave himself a well-deserved pat on the back. It was so conniving he had shocked himself.

 _Ohh_ , after this Elijah will definitely be out for blood.

 _His_ blood.

Oh sure, Elijah's tried to kill him many times in the past. _Repeatedly_. Persistent little bugger, he'll give him that. It never ceases to amuse him to watch his little human become frustrated at realizing that all of the attempts on his life are futile.

(He's _Death_. Death can't die. And if he did…oh the irony.)

So, he needs the boy to let everything go. He needs Elijah to grieve his past love and realize that he _wants_ family. He desires affection and love and the warmth of another's touch.

In retrospect, Death is doing him a favor in making it clear to Elijah that he is still human and humans by nature seek out others company when alone. It's like a little rehabilitation program.

A rehabilitation program that bites you in the ass with a big 'fuck you' when you least expect it.

. . .

The nightmares didn't surprise Elijah, but they sure as hell surprised his parents.

The first nightmare leaves him waking up with an earsplitting scream. Blood and darkness is all he can see in those first few moments before his parents come rushing in and Elijah would have been amused at the sight of his father holding a gun if he wasn't so terrified. Images of Tom's empty eyes and body drenched in blood doesn't exactly fill one with laughter.

The comfort of a mother knows no bounds as she stays with him all night, rocking him against her body in soothing waves. She sings him a lullaby and Elijah sighs softly, accepting any kind of affection she has to offer because without it…the thought of what little sanity he had left breaking makes him wince.

Ideally waking up for the next couple of days screaming isn't what he had in mind for his vacation, but grieving the loss of Tom and lifting all of his emotional barriers feels somewhat... relieving

In a morbid and totally excruciating way.

Oh, it still hurt whenever he thought of…Tom. It was burning and twisting and he's repeatedly wished that he felt nothing so the pain would just _go away_. (He can do that, with more time honing in on his Occlumency skills he could theoretically cut off specific parts of the brain so he could feel nothing.

But he isn't stupid enough to do something so rash. Emotionally hollow isn't something Elijah would like to experience.)

He can't cry forever.

He has a holiday to enjoy after all, and grieving was not on the list of fun activities to do.

. . .


	6. The Profane Maid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is stepping out from the fray of angsty-ness and into the light of Elijah starting his new life!
> 
> ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
> 
> Aka, this is a filler chapter. Why? Because I have to sadly announce I won't be updating until sometime in January or February. I have been swamped with family and school stuff. Even though it's the holidays (curse you life)!
> 
> HAPPY NEW YEARS AND BELATED CHRISTMAS!
> 
> I hope you will still love me even though this is a filler chapter…

 

. . .

Vacation: Terminated

Chapter V: The Profane Maid

_Teething – 'nuff said._

. . .

" _'Cause I ain't scared of living_

_I ain't scared of living_

_No, I ain't scared of living_

_'Cause it's all we've got_

_What are we breathing for if we ain't living_

_And I don't want your love_

_I just want to feel like I'm still living_

_And if there is no God_

_I'll know the day I die I lived through heaven_

_And that I gave it hell_

_And if it hurt, oh, well at least that's living_ "

Rock and Roll, EDEN

. . .

'I've lived for over a thousand years, forever dying forever living. I've created and destroyed worlds. Enemies have trembled at the mere mention of my name. They've told stories about me over campfires. I've slaughtered, maimed and given life. I will not cry. _The manly Elijah Phantomhive cannot cry_.'

His gums flared and itched.

Teething had begun.

The nightmare of all nightmares for a baby.

. . .

It seems he weren't the only poor soul who had to go through this morbid stage of life. Edward was currently munching on a cold peach Francis had given him after attempting to get his grubby little hands on anything and everything within reaching distance. One time he had managed to snatch his wrist and began to drool all over him.

Elijah's never been so genuinely disgusted in all his years and promised with all his little heart that if Edward ever claims his body as a chew toy again he'll drop kick his diaper ass straight to hell.

 _Twitch_.

'I am a man and I will not allow this little _inconvenience_ to lower me to the benchmarks of...' Elijah turned a solemn look to his babe compatriot who was gleefully chowing down on his piece of cold fruit. Eyes fluttering in a show of bliss as he released another coo of pleasure. Elijah was honestly bewildered. '… _That_.'

As his gums continue to flare and itch in pain, Elijah gazed sulkily from the playpen towards his mother. She was eagerly chatting away with his two aunts about some women nonsense (and really, given his age he should easily understand women talk by now).

Red and blond headed wenches. Stealing away his chew toy (his mother, who has the most chewable jewelry in history) when he needs it – _her_ , the most.

Elijah continued to give them the stink eye until the telltale sting burst in his gums. Sensing somebody watching them, Angelina peered over her the rim of her glass. Eyes twinkling at him with either genuine mirth (one peek inside her thoughts and he could tell she had a little crush on his father. It felt like Severus Snape all over again. Now wasn't that a disgusting thought) or glee at him giving her attention under some delusion that if she were with Vincent he would be her son.

_Most unpleasant thoughts._

He considers the pros of lowering himself to Edward's method: chew everything in sight, even if it's yourself and you become a salivating chaotic mess.

Elijah casually leans out of the way as his babe companion rolls about, cooing around the peach, and shook his head in exasperation.

_What a weirdo._

Never been a fan of drool, and he doesn't see why he should start now. Teething will not drop his standards.

Unlike his loony companion, Elijah's managed to contain his chewing intentions to the bare minimum. This means his own personal chew toys were his parents and Tanaka…

… _Ooh_ ~

OH!

 _Tanaka_.

Now there's a thought. Huzzah!

Casually, Elijah moseys his way over to the edge of the playpen, pudgy knees making no sound to garner the adult's attention. With a sharp flick of his head the wooden bars silently bent out of his way, shifting in an open circle large enough to fit his pudgy little body through. About to make his quick getaway, a soft tug at his trousers halted his movement.

_That little brat._

Jaded eyes traveled downwards and connected with curious lime-green.

'Let go of me you little maggot.' Elijah glared darkly, gums begging for attention. Like the little fiend he was, Edward comically chewed around his fruit. Cooing with glee.

Mocking him.

' _Oh you smug bastard_.'

With a speck of wandless magic he 'gently' pushed Edward away, causing the child to rock backwards like an overturned turtle. Limbs flapping in the air as the child cackled in delight. Elijah stared at the odd creature, clearly not the sharpest of prongs, before rearing his attention back to the mission at hand.

 _Find Tanaka_.

Crawling forwards with diminutive speed, the dark-haired tot made his way out of the playpen. Reaching out with his magic, he located the old butler near the kitchens.

 _Aaah_ …that's kinda far. He can only crawl so much before his knees begin to hurt.

Time to test out if his skill in apparition is still stable then. No time like the present. And if a little bit of himself gets left behind well…

He'll cross that bridge when he gets there.

There was a familair tugging sensation in his navel and he disappeared from the doorway with a soft _crack_.

"Did you hear something?" Asked Francis, looking up from the tea she was sipping. To her right Rachel tilted her head, trying to spy what had caught her sister-in-laws attention.

"…No. I don't believe I can hear anything. Angelia?"

The red girl shook her head. Laughing softly, Francis went back to her tea.

She could have sworn she had heard a noise.

. . .

Tanaka issued the slobbering baby in his arms with a very dour look. The little miscreant was thoughtlessly chomping on his lapel pin, cooing and sending him gratifying glances every now and then. It was hard to keep up his stern appearance whenever he saw those big round eyes staring at him as though he had just handed a starving child a piece of cheesecake.

Heaven knows how the tot found his way to the kitchens of all places. It almost gave Tanaka a premature heart attack finding Elijah outside the door, only two meters away from _large pointy objects that could cut the child to ribbonsGood Lord somebody get him far far away from them before something happens and Vincent will have his head on a stick!_ Tanaka moved with the grace and speed of a man one shouldn't possess in the mid fifties and picked Elijah up and started petting him down (read: fussing) for any damage. Luckily there was none.

Seeing that the tot was safe and seemingly possessive about his lapel pin, Tanaka began to wonder why and how Elijah was in the servant's part of the mansion. Wasn't he supposed to be having a play-date with Ed… _ward_ …

Oh dear.

If Elijah's out and about wouldn't it only seem logical for Edward to follow? The blonde babe follows after Elijah like a little duckling.

Oh dear, he thought. "Oh dear." He said.

. . .

In his arms Elijah's munching drew to a halt.

 _Edward_.

He didn't close the hole.

 _Crap_.

. . .

Earl Phantomhive sighed, passing his overcoat and hat to the butler as he rolled into his home. It was a strenuous evening. Always is when he's in the company of his fellow noblemen.

Mind games, blackmailing, debating (yelling), more mind games and more blackmailing…

Vincent sighed again; rubbing his temples in a vain attempt to lessen the headache he had received from listening to grown men yelling at one another like bunch of five year olds. At least he can always count on Diedrich to settle them down, offering food for silence and peace.

He had not missed this line of work. He'd rather stay at home and teach his son how to read and talk than dispute with old men and their cocky little heirs who trailed along and have the gall to talk back to him as though he were their inferior. Normally this type of behavior was expected, not many would peg him as the type to be the boogeyman of the nobles. They expected a horrid-looking man that came out of nightmares, eyes that could root you to the spot with one glance and hands tainted red. Not a handsome young man with kind eyes and soft smile.

Have none of them ever heard the saying, "a wolf in sheep's clothing"?

He was used to this conduct, but after long hours of listening to grown men squabbling about who can do what in who's territory and worrying about his wife's diminutive health, he did not appreciate a nineteen year old boy smugly challenge him in a battle of wit. He was _not_ a frail flower by any means.

Unfortunately his roundabout lifesaver for these regular (too regular for Vincent's liking - was he really that delicate looking?) occurrences was too preoccupied by a freshly baked apricot tart to be of any help whatsoever.

Vincent did not enjoying his evening.

Not one bit.

Running a weary hand through his raven locks, Vincent was more than ready to sit down with Angelina and his son while nursing a nice hot cup of tea. The thought resonated within him and the young earl aimed for the lounge room, eager to relax.

Turning down the hallway Vincent faltered with a look of abhorrence.

"What on God's green earth are you doing Tanaka!"

The old butler jerked from his crouched position in the hallway cupboard. Banging his head with a loud _thump,_ which was quickly followed by a howl of pain.

"Is-is that my _son_ hanging off you?!"

Indeed Vincent could spy Elijah, his tiny, oh so delicate _small_ child clinging off the back of Tanaka's neck like a damned baby koala. Said baby spied him back and released a hand from around the butler's neck - Vincent's heart skipped a beat too many and shortened his life-span by a few years – and waved at him.

"Dada!"

Vincent almost let out a hysterical giggle.

Finally Tanaka extracted himself from his intimate relations with the hallway cupboard and stared at him as though Vincent had walked in on something obscene. Vincent rather hoped he had not and quickly checked his surroundings before mentally hitting himself and straightening his spine.

The young earl spread his arms out with a fierce expression, which would have made any lesser man tremble in fear if it weren't for the grabby motions he was making with his hands.

Looking like a petulant child asking for his toy.

" _Sir_." Said Tanaka guiltily, peeling the child off of him like a lid to a can of sardines and passing him over to his father.

Vincent hugged Elijah against him, patting his hair and glowering at the butler.

"Explain."

He did, and it left Vincent sweating silently.

"Ah, oh - _heh_ …Oh dear."

"My thoughts exactly, sir."

Vincent coughed, suddenly short of breath and asked desperately. "And…my wife, sister-in-law and sister haven't noticed anything?"

Tanaka rightly empathized with his master's plight. "Thankfully not sir, or I daresay we'd have a riot on our hands."

"Nothing at all?" He pressed.

"No, sir."

" _Nothing_? At all?" Vincent didn't know whether to consider it a blessing or curse that his wife hasn't noticed their son and his partner-in-crime missing.

Given the circumstances, he considered it a blessing.

"It seems they're more interested in Miss. Angelina's abrupt decision to become a Doctor than anything else."

There was silence, except for the subtle sounds of someone munching. (Somehow Elijah had pinched the pin with him during the exchange. Tanaka made a mental note to sterilize it after today. _Thoroughly_.)

"Huh." Said Vincent, blinking slowly. "Good for her."

"I thought so too, sir." Tanaka beamed, unsightly for the mess they were currently in.

Vincent pulled himself together.

"Right, get the staff searching for Edward immediately and do it _discretely_. I don't want the girls to find out."

"Understood, sir. But, sir, may I ask how you plan to smuggle the Young Master back into the playpen?"

Vincent blinked and looked towards the heavens. "Oh dear."

. . .

Vincent was both amused and annoyed at the sight of his entire staff searching frantically for an awol baby. They resembled mice sniffing for cheese.

With no results.

Honestly, how one baby could _possibly_ evade this many people seemed to be beyond him. Clicking his tongue, he peered down and stared into his son's green orbs.

"You don't happen to know where your cousin is do you?"

His response was a flat look.

"Thought not."

"Found 'im!" A maid cried as she scuttled towards Vincent, holding a befuddled Edward up in the air like some grand prize that everyone should see and envy.

"Shh!"

The maid looked chagrined and smiled sheepishly as she tucked Edward under her arm in a way that made everyone in the room twitch nervously. "Ah, shit sorry. Forgot we are supposed ta be quie'. Ahem. This lil' tyke," she shook the babe in the air. Oblivious to how Vincent and the rest reeled forward in alarm, "was in the lollie basket for the Christmas party tomorrow. I would have mistaken him for a children's toy if I hadn't slipped on his trail of fuckin' drool. Oh, Martha!" The woman lolled her head towards a startled fellow maid. "Ya have ta clean that shit up before there's an accident. Almost broke my hipbone. Never would ave thought drool could be so dangerous if I hadn't experienced it firsthand."

Vincent issued the profane maid a dry look. Absently thanking Tanaka for covering Elijah's ears with his gloved hands.

"Thank you, Miss…"

"Cartwell." She chirped. Oblivious to the staff staring at her as though she had grown a second head.

" _Cartwell_." Vincent smiled charmingly, feeling the muscles in his face strain for the effort. "Thank you, Miss _Cartwell_ for finding Edward. I'd appreciate it if you would kindly hand him over to Tanaka here."

"Sir." She nodded, thrusting the baby outward, once again rendering the staff and himself terrified of Edwards' untimely demise.

Tanaka dutily took the baby heir, breathing a silent sigh of relief and glaring at the maid.

Who was undoubtedly oblivious.

When Vincent let the staff get back to their original tasks for the manor he could faintly hear Miss Cartwell talking to a random gardener.

" _Well I dunno about you but I'm beat. Man I was almost shitting myself when I found out the little tyke was set loose. You know I may not look'it but I love kids…"_

Vincent turned towards a dumbstruck Tanaka. Staring.

"Who hired her?"

"Haven't the faintest, sir."

. . .

When they smuggled the two babies back in the playpen, the three women didn't notice a thing.

Instead of tea like Vincent had planned to drink, he decided to nurse a cup of scotch.

Tanaka never did get his lapel pin back.

. . .


End file.
